somersaults on the rolling tide-
heavy waves with white grains of sand
stroke and shape that shifting coast land
until it slides dunes steep and wide
Category Archives: Poetry
Four Lines
Love of splash in shady corners
drives the lone graffiti artist
to spray graphics bold and shortest
heeding neither law nor orders.Heeding neither orders nor law
an artist paints on walls plain bare
round-bellied letters with wild hair
declare where I do dare to draw.When I dare to draw or paint rhymes
words and lines dance free in the air
I give them weight all they can bear
but it’s not my weight nor my times.Not my times nor even my weight
lie under the rhyme and the sound
I dig through the lost and not found
for the one way to box my freight.For the one way to freight my box
leads me onto old crooked roads
of sound, only sounds are the loads
that hold the tock of my rhyme’s clock.
Lynne
Four Lines
Darkened abruptly eerie day
steps from the shadows in the room
and begins to sculpt shapes of gloom
spread outward through me and away.Spread outward and away through me
shadows stuck tight to my feet sweep
through a dark crisscross of the street
longing to skip their heels and flee.To skip their heels and flee along
a river of asphalt too black
for shadows to play in the cracks
let light change soft shape into strong.Let light change the stark eerie shape
of tree branches writhing to knit
street lace on a sidewalk still lit
on and off by a neon drape.A neon drape blinks with the flash
of cursive opens and light beer
colored light bound to interfere
with shady corners’ love of splash..
Lynne
Four Lines
Once lost our balance and graces
go for rides on big flying boats
around the oval balance floats
while graces assume their places.While the graces assume their place
we try to dance on two left feet
dipping under the wrong up beat
behind the time with every pace.With every pace behind the time
our rhythm shifts from twist to waltz
the pattern outlines all foot faults
squeezing folly from pure sublime.From sublime to stumbling folly
should be a long arduous climb
but folly needs so little time
a blink to slide through to sorry.Only blink to slide to sorry
the step from firm earth to quicksand
asphalt to weed choked dirt path and
day abruptly darkened eerie.
Lynne
Four Lines
Head down in the weeds we are dropped
left to grope blindly through the roots
with no maps or clearly marked routes
drooping feet seeking til they’re stopped.Seeking until they’re stopped, our feet
grip the thin cold air with curled toes
and try to dodge the poorest rows
to keep their bare soles smelling sweet.We keep our souls smelling too sweet
counting Sundays we sit in church
keen to look involved in the search
for something to keep us complete.To find something to complete us
desperate soles wander the streets
stripping every soul they meet
stark naked to find an address.An address that leaves a sole stark
naked provides us no haven
nor a thing resembling heaven
just a place to hide from the dark.Hiding from the dark these places
sell shoes to slip over bare soles
and walk with no care on hot coals
but lose our balance and graces.
Lynne
Four Lines
If unearned wealth can get you caught
then it’s best to live on wages
bought hard in hourly stages
sweat of the brow work your hands wrought.Work wrought by brow’s sweat and your hands
can include pickaxe and shovel
and pen and words with heart trouble
and the needs of a child’s demands.A child’s demands are bone deep needs
bound by genome reproduction
strung by DNA instruction
the evolution of next seeds.The evolution of next seeds
drives the condition of humans
leads us through happy delusions
and drops us head down in the weeds.Lynne
Four Lines
Repeating an idiom is
the bane and curse of written lines
for non standard meanings need signs
about kicked buckets and slow fizz.About kicked buckets and slow fizz
there’s a whole lot of fuss and strife
where lists prescribe the length of life
and wines demand you pass a quiz.If you pass a quiz to drink wine
there’s no need to laugh and feel smug
numerous tests of nose and jug
show no tongue can tell meh from prime.If no tongue can tell meh from prime
even before the drinking starts
the switch to cheap red after dark
would not be a provable crime.An unprovable crime could not
end with bushels of unmarked cash
or jewels in your private stash
for unearned wealth can get you caught.
Lynne
Four Lines
While in my yard standing alone
the unused furniture spills rust
on concrete that wants to adjust
to the shift of underground stones.
The shifting of underground stones
is what cracks solid foundations
tilts geometric relations
and sets up vibrations in bones.
Bone vibrations quickly set up
a quake in a once rigid spine
submerging the ear with the whine
of coffee trembling in a cup.
While coffee in a cup trembles
the hand shakes almost the same beat
keeping time with uncertain feet
a feat poetry resembles.
Poetry resembles the feat
oft referred to as herding cats
but I think a belfry with bats
is the idiom to repeat.
Four Lines
With the task undertook all’s square
in the world of rhyming quatrains
and why I am here to complain
that four lines each day is not fair.
That four lines each day is not fair
has naught to do with this project
for I’m the one with the concept
to write for a year on a dare.
To dare to write for a full year
three hundred sixty five verses
seemed a mild task with few curses
not too hard a project to fear.
A project I fear not too hard
and I can toss any four lines
in very few minutes most times
while standing alone in my yard.
Four Lines
It’s too bleak the art of good verse
for amateurs to read their work
where critics come to smile and smirk
as poets go from worse to worse.As poets go from worse to worse
heart-break’s agony spread too thick
lonely souls yearning to be kissed
by a dark enlightening curse.A dark enlightening curse gives
a verse writer subject matter
to let sad sobbing words splatter
fat tears over a poem’s ribs.Fat tears onto a poem’s ribs
masks the delicate march of feet
leads the tempo towards defeat
and hangs the rhyme before it lives.To hang the rhyme before it lives
corrupts the will to sparsely write
verse that brings the brink of hot light
to cast shadows on loves and sins.To cast shadows on sins and loves
could be the reason for fine art
and short quatrains could be the start
to finding what poetry does.Finding what poetry can do
is a lifetime of sorting words
stumbling through lists of nouns and verbs
counting fingers till lines are true.Lines are true when counting fingers
keep conning over the same place
moving purposefully in space
to right a foot that still lingers.Lingering still on the right foot
this three six five project is now
tied to its prescribed daily rate
all square with the task undertook.
Lynne
the crafty sisters 