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Bekah Halle Dec 2
Quenching my thirst,
ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh,
I gulp (ladylike, of course)
tepid water, slowing my burst
to match the quiet calm,
I catch a glimpse of new birds
playing on the army-cut grass,
short and sharp. Need for replenishing balm!
I smile; a 90's tune comes to mind,
but with a 'fresh' take:
"my mowing [milkshake] brings
all the birds [boys] to the yard..."
La la, la la, la. Grind!
Kelis’ My Milkshake…
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6AwXKJoKJz4&ab_channel=KelisVEVO
When the nimble aphids are leaping
And squat caterpillars are creeping
They’re fleeing on before
The mower’s starting roar,
Like field-mice at the autumn reaping.
Anya Sep 2018
He called me dense
It still sticks to me
Not because
I'm hurt
or anything

But because,
I find it funny
I don't think I am
I do notice things around me

Honestly though,
half the time
it's a real pain to be
aware of everything

I know what I need to
I focus on what I deem important

Yet...maybe my lack of societal awareness
has dubbed me dense?

I certainly do sport a happy go lucky attitude
Often childish
Book smart,
but often confused
seeming
And I certainly do have
the annoying habit of people pleasing
while being shy
and diffident
at times

It's funny
I almost feel smarter with myself
When I'm with others
self-consciousness
self-doubt
social anxiety
naturally takes hold

It sometimes places me
in the role of under dog
Or is it dark horse?
The one,
who surprisingly pulls through
Surprisingly,
has abilities

I'm a little bit like a wave I suppose
On a stormy night
Lashing this way and that
as I please
Sometimes broken down
other times mowing my way through

So, maybe I am dense
Maybe I'm not
I don't know

Life...
can be described by many adjectives
But, let me keep mowing through
On my own merry way
Chugging like,
as my little brother would say,
A chu chu train
Austin Bauer Sep 2016
On a brisk autumn evening
I became aware of the chorus
Of leaves as I dumped
Another bag of grass
Onto my compost pile.
The changing colors above me
Resounded like waves
Crashing on the ocean shore.
Looking at those branches
Swaying in the breeze
****** my mind to the months ahead.
I will see these same trees
Bare as a skeleton in the frigid air,
Clacking and clicking in the wind.
With that thought I realized:
Even in the dead of winter,
As long as she has breath,
Nature sings her thankful song.

— The End —