Words Won't Keep

I want to sleep.

But words won’t keep.

Words which delight my tongue.

That live as notes of a song unsung.

Words standing patiently in line,

Consigned and aligned to rhyme.

Words with a light of their own that want to be aired.

Wary words. The wanton and willful paired.

Words hiding in my heart, slats of light timid and true.

Or hidden there, a fawn of innocent speckled light in the dew.

Words that lie down together for warmth or huddle in phrases in a heap.

Hibernating words hidden in the womb of my creativity leap.

Tumblers from a waterfall of consonants and alliterations weep.

Seeds of metaphor that sprout and later I will reap.

Words that seep from the recesses of my grief

Or blow across the page in a moment brief

I want to sleep.

But words won’t keep.

Fickle Words that skittle away,

At the approaching morning rays

Words that have no meaning.

And words with too much meaning

I want to sleep.

But words won’t keep.

The Shape We're In

It seems to be true.

No matter what we do.

Someone won't like the shape we're in.

Teeth too  white

Teeth too yellow

Clothes tight

Clothes billow.

Curly hair.

Green hair.

Gray hair

No hair.

Blue eyes,

Red eyes,

Dark eyes,

Shifty eyes

Hips and thighs,

Size extra wide,

Skin as dry

as Naugahyde.

Beauties stare

Billboards blare

Magazine's fare

Advertisers care.

All around

I hear the din.

Someone won't like the shape we're in.

The Flowers Moonlight Frolic

On the last day of Summer,

A full moon bends her beams among

flowers in the garden.

Leaves rustle, the wind sings through grasses.

Blossoms tilt their faces toward the sound.

 Chloris, Greek goddess of flowers, sings:

 Waken, my blossoms! Dance and sing

 at this festival to celebrate the last sweet summer day.

Lavender Dahlias dance and stretch their petals high.

Yellow marigolds, red and cream Alstroemeria

 blend voices to harmonize.

Carnations create garlands from bunches of baby's breath.

Coneflowers twirl this way and that.

Flamboyant, bright- red Cannas

 flamenco dance wildly about,

as geranium claps it's stems to the beat.

Roses: pink, coral, and white

gather and preen in the moon's sheen.

around their festival queen.

She, rose, cup of sunshine, with pink-laced

white-petalled  skirt swaying to the music,

showcases her innocent beauty

cloaked in green satin leaves.

Spiders, feeling the spirit, spin webs

for dew to catch moonlight

twinkling on vines.

It's bright enough for all of them

but me to see,

for I can only imagine them.