Sorry no poetry today!
We’ll try again.
Weeks pass. Nothing to say-
is it not yet thought of-
sprouting, not yet budded.
We treat the sprout
the radicle deepens
budding begins
we have a seedling
on the rise.
This is the poem-
You sit there and wonder
what a wonderful change.
From ignorance of beginnings
to glorious realization:
The menthol Newport n our hands,
Orion overhead, dull street lights,
smoke from our lungs distorting the lake.
I wonder what it is like-
Like what?
how the world looks,
through your eyes.
I see playfulness
my imagination runs rampant,
merging realties to become-
surreal. I disrupt the compliant
by paving the roads with
trees of broccoli-
So that is your world-
we share the desire,
to glorify our imaginations
surrealism you say-
romanticism I suggest.
I have to tell you.
I do hate broccoli.
Jul 14, 2014
Jul 14, 2014 at 7:10 PM UTC
Sorry no poetry today!
We’ll try again.
Weeks pass. Nothing to say-
is it not yet thought of-
sprouting, not yet budded.
We treat the sprout
the radicle deepens
budding begins
we have a seedling
on the rise.
This is the poem-
You sit there and wonder
what a wonderful change.
From ignorance of beginnings
to glorious realization:
The menthol Newport n our hands,
Orion overhead, dull street lights,
smoke from our lungs distorting the lake.
I wonder what it is like-
Like what?
how the world looks,
through your eyes.
I see playfulness
my imagination runs rampant,
merging realties to become-
surreal. I disrupt the compliant
by paving the roads with
trees of broccoli-
So that is your world-
we share the desire,
to glorify our imaginations
surrealism you say-
romanticism I suggest.
I have to tell you.
I do hate broccoli.
Request permission to use this poem