It's flowers and perfume
When it's you
It's poems and books
When I'm with you

It's songs and guitar
When it's you
It's four o clock
When I'm with you

I'm in my head all alone
But my heart knows you're the one

“Why is your flute so tiny
and all?”,
said the Willow to the little boy
“Maybe cos my song
is low and light
and my fingers
are so small”

“Why’s your arms
so stretched up high”
asked the boy looking up
“Maybe to send your tune,
past clouds and sky,
that resonates from my stump”

So together it dawned
the day they joined
spreading  the sweetest sound
The one who sits small,
with one standing tall
Together, reached heaven
from the ground

She got him all wrong, the strong
arms gone to brittle.
Clay is troubled to form the
impression.  And longer the
art of your dented and salted
mire.

For nothing like a walk in the
boneyard of the cheap motel
of her imagination.  

You are Rant and Ruin.  The
Remains crust and smoke
Tomorrow of her old age is
the rat trails of her poetry

I know this because she told it
to the murk and creep of your
deteriorating smoke.  The last
**** was unimaginable.

Run far and away from the
wrinkled visage of memory.
You are red and ruins in a
slot of yesterday.

Today runs through her like
wine and bread.  The table
is set for never again your
chair is broken silt.

Caroline Shank
3.22.2023

BIRDS OF PARADISE

Flying wings of orange
forever in a take-off pose,
the pilot a tiny dot of blue.
Slender green stems,
their graceful dance
enhanced by every
breath of breeze,
pointed leaves’
aggressive message:
do not pluck, stand back,
admire, roots invisible,
anchoring each plant
to earth, each flight
a phantom, the eye’s
illusion, each bloom
a tiny fire, born on air,
beyond the pain of living,
beyond death’s denial,
their free infinities
expressing all our
hearts’ desires.

The couch shook as the thunder cracked rearing across the sky.
My heart fluttered with excitement
as my back felt the shiver.

As the wind is blowing the trees
are forced to bow and sway.

The rain is pouring like a flood gate
opened from the clouds.

Electricity is in the air, the storm
is brewing within my poetic mind
and outside.

As my sorrows ponder on the
weather.

©️ 2023 By Amanda Shelton

I wanted to take care of you
as if you were the last sunflower on Earth
but winter ravaged this garden.
Despite my best efforts,
I watched your petals wither
before my helpless eyes.
It is true that I did not know
how to take care of you,
but I’ll be ****** if
I had not given you my all.