a rhyme a rhyme the poet cried
oh oh woe the thesaurus died
I’m lost lost left two syllables
deep just four iambic feet wide
Tag Archives: envelope stanza
Four Lines
prodded by memory I stand
transfixed on an old stomping ground—
sixty years later my feet still
recognize this sidewalk’s odd tilt
Four Lines
how many times must a poet
rhyme oranges by changing mid-use
to bananas only to find
no fruit except dried sultanas
Four Lines
a hot day in early autumn
rustles glum among the dry leaves
held hostage by the wheezy squeaks
of a dawdling eastern phoebe
Four Lines
spring coaxes a last reluctant
branch into the new green of sky
and sun then breathes a near hidden
sigh to make the leaves flutter
Four Lines
my roots are long in this small town
and no strangers travel these streets
but I can’t meet their eyes nor greet
their smiles because they’ve let me down
Four Lines
it’s new —this year— but it smells old
as if time waits poised to repeat
history’s stink of human greed
faux fundamentals wreaked the polls
Four Lines
how quickly this summer flicks by
light bursts dawn into greens then blues
noon yellows toward twilight hues
time under color hides its flight
Four Lines
every now and then comes that
perfect summer day breezes blow
through wide open windows and doors
throwing joy around with the chaff
Four Lines
my mind can roam free from time why
then does each tick of the clock wrap
my body closer in its grasp
until life confined breathless dies
the crafty sisters 