Perfect as an egg-round sign
Smoothly futures realign
With whatever comes our way–
Dreaming, waking, walking play.
Take my hand till you have grown.
Soon you will walk on your own.
Fortune will be yours to keep.
Mine was blessed to guard your sleep.
Text: Linked to dVerse Quadrille. Kim from Writing in North Norfolk is hosting with the word “egg”. The form of this poem is a tanaga.
Photos: “Lake”, above, and “River”, below.
Summer needs to get some rest.
Fall, it’s time to rise!
Have you any dreams to share
Through cool autumn skies?
Text: Linked to dVerse Meeting the Bar. I am hosting. The theme is sleep. There are no other constraints.
Photos: “RIP Summer ’17”, above that I am linking to Frank Jansen’s Tuesday Photo Challenge with the theme “signs”, and “Changing Maple Leaves”, below. I took both along the Chipilly Woods Trail.
Dreams I can’t remember–
I wonder–were they nice?
When I wake I understand
They enhance like spice.
Who was busy through the night?
I can not recall.
Who then turned the morning on?
Who put color in the dawn?
That one did it all.
Text: Linked to dVerse Quadrille Monday. Mish hosts today with the prompt word “spice”.
Photo: “Water Garden” by the author taken at the Chicago Botanic Garden.
My monsters have me cornered.
There’s nothing I can do,
But they’re so jumbly juicy
My teeth would gnaw them, too.
I’d like one buttered up to bite
While thinking thoughts real deep
So people think the stuff I write
Need not put them to sleep.
Oh, sure, I do get sleepy,
But they are getting near.
Monsters, monsters everywhere!
I’m cornered. They are here.
Linked to dVerse Open Link Night hosted by Grace.
For a future collection of nonsense called “Monsters, Monsters Everywhere and Not a Bite to Eat”.
Photo: “Fenced In or Out” by the author.
It’s wetter than I want to be
And so I choose the land.
My weighty friend, great gravity,
Prefers that I should stand.
A boat is an alternative,
But some do sink out there.
Why leave the land and try to live
And float in some nowhere?
There are those creatures in that deep
Who wishy-washy roam.
I’ll count on waves of dreamy sheep.
I’d rather sleep at home.
Photo by the author
Hear the author read this poem on SoundCloud.