~

*Springtime sings of wondrous things
Of warmer days and robin’s wings
Of daffodils and playground swings
Of sunny morning wanderings
Of fishing poles and wedding rings
Of family picnic gatherings
Of arbors blooming jasmine clings
Of sweetly scented offerings
Of firefly meanderings
Of stardust moonlit ponderings
Of all the happiness it brings
Yes springtime sings of wondrous things

Rushing ecstasy
Intensive flow
Rising high
Crashing low
Raging apathy
Falling apart
Chaotic outbreak
Back to the start

©

I broke the last one
from abuse
it'd been worn out
and badly used
and when I told her
of the news
it seemed that she
was not amused
I played it hard
I played it fast
I told her that
was in the past

but she told me
she didn't care
it wasn't like
she had a spare
humidity,
the cold,
the sun,
to her it didn't
sound like fun

I told her
that was all okay
I wouldn't leave her
in the rain
and I would
strum her every day

I'd take my pick
and lightly strum
just hard enough
to make her hum
never have I
broke a string
and I'm precise
in *******

I've rhythm
that would curl her toes
and I can play
with my eyes closed

I'd give her
just what she deserves
I'd worship
every inch of her
the lyrics
I would not forget
not just one song
but a whole set
I'd play until
I'm tired and sore
and then I'd play
a couple more

spring
is
in the air
and
as I'm pouring out sweat
from a good days work
trying to find the strength
to carry on
a cool breeze
catches me off my guard,
followed by a warm shower
and lifts my spirits
in a way I have long since forgotten
was even possible

You'll have to talk to the poet,
He's not around
Right now.

I don't write'em

I just edit'em
(I'm no good at spelling
Don't know much about grammar
Sonnets
or
Iambic pentameter,
his moods,
his states of mind
what it is he's trying to define
or
find.
Not sayin' that ignorance is a good thing )

I just post'em
and
let'em go.

The poet?
You'll have to talk to him
and he's not around
right now.