Summer fallow plot, cheat grass and pigweed tangle— wild sunflower yellow!
The Limrick of Doreen and Darrel
Back in the day Doreen was quite busty and an on-her-back young lusty; but the bust drooped, and the back stooped, and now Doreen is an upright old fusty. Darrel was a boasty young lust sparking Doreen for her bust; but the lust went gloppy and Doreen went floppy. Now Darrel’s an crusty old fust.
Senior Moments and Composing Poetry
Summer dusk, poem thought— hummingbird hums in, whirs out— gone, just like that, it's gone. A poem composed last night before the Ragtag Community WOD, transition, was posted—but applicable.
Dinkum Thief
This Montana boy is dinkum apologetic because "dinkum" does not appear in his poetic aesthetic For, though a dinkum shameless lingual thief, He’s ashamed, as a dinkum fly-over American inlander, (O, let us in dinkum shame be brief) to never have pilfered "dinkum" from any dinkum New Zealander!
Fishing and the Names of Mountains
Deek Komplec and Danny Fars were hunting cutthroat trout in the lake they had known as Congress Lake since they were boys. They weren’t skinny, fleet-footed boys chasing the biggest fish anymore. Neither of them were paunchy in their age, but bones rumbled and creaked when they moved, and when they stood from a chair … Continue reading Fishing and the Names of Mountains
A Prince
Old Daryl was a morbid sort. By the time he was sixty-five, he had his will all sorted, his bills finally all paid off, his porch rocker put where he could watch the sunset until he took part in it. When his buddies, the guys he’d grown up with, gone off to fight Hirohito with, … Continue reading A Prince
Wall Shadow
How a tree’s shadow angled on the concrete tells all except green.
A Short Story of Lofty Longing
I’m rising to the twelfth floor on a slow dangle when it stops on three and what can I do? I sigh and snap watchward glances, but in elevators and buses you go where and whenever you’re taken, so I dangle and wait. And the elevator door-wings slide wide on an angel, a young creature … Continue reading A Short Story of Lofty Longing
The Poet Awaits a Word
Under a pale sun— a thicket’s last leaf and, wind-ragged, a yellow finch Posted in response to the Ragtag daily prompt: Solitude.
A Seventh Discovery of Joy
Whether that shovel leans against the shed or turns soil is irrelevant.
Home of Have, Poems by Lee Robison 