Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Paige White Aug 2020
But in truth I ran
I wouldn’t look details in the eye
I glanced under my eyelashes
Out of the corners
To gaze at reflections in the windows
On both sunny and rainy days
Planning for snow
I scratched illegible notes
Readable only to me
                And counted pain - not mine
I made bubbly conversation that got nowhere
Steering it away from deep water
Answer? Send a meme!
Yes, probably not
No, very likely

But you never know!

Please revise
Just like this.... I wasn’t going here when I started this, only incidentally...  
Paige White Aug 2020
Geese fly over low
To south, honk,     and honk,      again
Old weather radar
Getting that time again
  Aug 2020 Paige White
Betty
Cool fragrant Lilly
Monet's sweet floating flower
Hides much deeper roots
We all have a hidden side
Paige White Aug 2020
Three wilted transplants
Kiss dirt as squeezing vines choke
On midday sunlight
Patty M. has a divine drought collection of haiku. Made me want to see something beautiful in my pitiful little transplants today.
Paige White Aug 2020
Oh baby, you my favorite *****
Throw those nasty germs in the ditch
We ain’t rash, just scratching an itch
It’s a new setup, and get up a new hitch
Strong arm politickers throwing this pitch
Come on baby, you my favorite snitch!
We’re masking some heals money stitch
Throw those nasty germs in the ditch
Cause we ain’t rash, just scratching an itch.... 😜
In response to reading comments about some politicians wanting people to turn each other in. Forget loving your neighbor as yourself. Fine them! Confine them! Look how many millions have died!! Oh wait... millions haven’t yet. But they keep telling us they are.
Paige White Jun 2020
I received a few little letters
Scattered by my shining sun
Digitally mastered, he has overcome
Somewhat (insert a pause)
(I struggle for the word
For mixing up letters - you know the one)
DYSLEXIA!
He enquired about his grand sire
Wanting to know everything
Every little thing
For he perished when he was very young
He then recounted to me
His one remaining memory
Of finding a tiny little turtle
With great glee and awe
On a walk between our two houses
And their interchange there and back
Now I can but wonder
Would he have any idea
that one small adventure
Would be all that remained
In a boy’s mind, now a man
With two boys of his own
Of their short time together in life?
When he swung his walking stick
And batted that tiny turtle into the pond
Would he have reached over
And picked it up instead?
Or let the boy who was so excited
To find a tiny turtle on a walk
With his beloved Papaw
That memory has the same impact
As your walking stick on a tiny turtle
I suppose.
I do indeed wonder as I sit to compose
Words for my grand babes to find
And come to know me by
And I let that Sun’s memory guide me
On our little walks now....
We might find a little tiny turtle.
True story. I would appreciate honest feedback. I’m leaving a revised version in my journal for my children and grandchildren when I am gone.
Next page