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the old piano
loose music sheets scattered on floor
his hand grasping a carpet rose

the sun strolls
across the wallpaper
touching each rose in turn

a cat mews
to be fed
walks through the music sheets

now John has become
a corpse
something to be discovered

they look at him
in horror
he has long ceased to be John

kitten on the keys
making it up as it goes
falling on on Middle C

no one remembers him
there is no one to morn
the kitten finds a new home

This is.
That was.
Time laughs at humans.
patty m Mar 29
I thought we had a truce
we even signed a treaty
now you're putting me down
on walls of graffiti


I **** it up
drain the cup
taste it
don't waste it .

U dish out loathing and fear
sink it right here
your tongue lashin'
rehashin' old news
lets exchange barks and bites
for soft purrs and mews.

But U wanna be bad
with your  backstabbing play
if you want me to submit ,
try 50 shades of gray
spread the jam
don't tell me who I am
cuz now I'm takin what I want
like a wolf on the hunt,
unbuckled and prime
don't U cross the line.

**** it up
drain the cup
taste it
don't waste it

no blanket of security
no purity in your smile
cuz I'm taking  you down
without givin' U a trial

back door girls
can't be trusted
trifling *****
You've just been busted.

**** it up
Through the miracle of meteorology, up high - little by little
parts of me was made, without form within a clouds middle,
and eventually, formed in unique designs, lighter than feathers,
temperature and water work together to produce, a period of weather.
When shapes, never repeated - but in approximation, begin to fall, as snow,
feasibly forecasted, sometimes not so, down on to the surface below.
And so as blanket laid, across town and countryside, fields and city mews,
changing the familiar, smoothing contours, into new landscape views.
The material soft, white glistening snow so miraculously delivered,
at earliest opportunity is introduced to excited shouts, laughter, and shivers.
Fittingly gathered by adult and children's hand, with the goal - to build a man.
midst joyful sounds, travellers moans and snowball fights, the creators plan,
By rolled ball pile and heaped snow I was born, created by many in several places,
some small and really, lovingly made. Others large with various, curious, hats and faces.
All - to stand appreciatively of of the makers time, to create me and proudly put on show.
Winter feeds our lifetime span with cold wind, colder nights and, temperatures low,
we stand as white statuary, where children play, soon - will come the expected day
a thaw, will take our sustainability of cool, and so little by little I, and others go away,
with saddened countenance creators watch as we bend, wither and slouch,
stoically accepting this is, as is. Snowy days will return, snowmen too, I can vouch.
It’s a happy sadness for snowman builders and snowmen too, who together
wait in anticipation for fun and creativity, the joyful side of snowy weather.

From a Snowman
Michael C Crowder 23rd January 2019
From a Snowman perspective
L B  Aug 15
Sky Rat
L B Aug 15
My sister – camping on the coast
Muttering over macaroni
Fixing salad
Talking to a seagull

“George” mews like a cat
awaiting dinner
Waddling web-foot along the stony cliff
To him – life is a handout
against the backdrop of the setting sun
Garlic bread, spaghetti, chocolate chip cookie –

My sister adopts things
What was ever wild after?
Even this “Master of the Wind”
eats Italian tonight!

Till the “Alpha Bird”
younger stronger
spots the eye of orange on plate of white –
Whirls in on protest and demand
George responds in kind
Intruder seizes a meatball
George squawks and lunges
his last...

The sunset on the Maine coast tonight
enthroned in vaporous haze
Imbued with fragrance-- ocean rose
The sky-- delicate
mountain laurel pink
bleeding into purple
where the tallest spires of spruce
have stabbed upward
From the coastline's rock
comes qweedling of the robins
calls of sea birds in the peaceful distance....

        ….George struggles in Alpha's grip
on windpipe
Meal forgotten
as nature serves its worst
His neck arched back
Wings fluttering desperate
in his last display
a spray of feathers
Strength will take this day
Plunge it into faint squawks
George dissolves limp in quivers

as Alpha--
weightless victor
lifts away

Suzy cries out
despair at loss of little friend
        “I can't! I can't!

I rush out to hold  
his last limp sigh

...tossing his gray and white into another sky
This actually happened.  Hermit Island, Maine.
Written several years ago and lost the second half in one of my forays into house cleaning.  :)
A painful rewrite, but I think I finally caught it-- even better than the original.
I don't know where the italics came from, but they are perfect!  Thank you.

For my sister, Suzy

— The End —