"energizes" poems - Hello Poetry

I asked my mother for a glass kaleidoscope, but instead she handed me three shots of wine and a field guide to running galactic bases, which I guess is her way of selling dreams at low prices. I have yet to understand a coffee shop's symmetry, so I embrace the scrupulous company of a dragon-riding-a-butterfly. One spin around the Milky Way leaves the butterfly with holey wings and the dragon vomiting in my make-shift kaleidoscope. The apple tree in the corner of the living room ruins the symmetry of the space and I have to chug another glass of wine to make up for the peach tree I couldn't dream about and another wrong note sung by the basses. The song's in too low of a key, which is the basis behind the evil chinchilla's plan to mass-produce butterfly farms as part of a larger goal to pillage the dreams of dreamers. Luckily, we all have a handy-dandy kaleidoscope and a bag (or two) of bitter-tasting wine stolen from their boxes -- too much symmetry. My brother put a block on local news; the symmetry of our county's border was too much for me to bear. He bases his action (when mother asks) on the wine he didn't drink, so I throw the broken butterfly out the window where it lands on my nephew's spinning kaleidoscope. He doesn't know it yet, but that drum he's banging will envelop his dreams. A hike to the top of the cliff (a leap) re-energizes my dreams and I still can't relate to the maple leaves and their symmetry, but at least I can look through a lampshade at the kaleidoscope of trees dancing below me. There are seven thousand bases yet to run and they still haven't caught the butterfly, so a boy yells, "Drink!" and I take another sip of wine. The dragon and chinchilla are tipsy from the wine at this point and discuss the difference between dreams and electricity while my mother sautés the butterfly in ice cream and abstract ideas. The symmetry of my right ankle is still a bother, so I tell the basses to sing a quarter tone flat while I collide a scope. Off goes dragon-with-butterfly (once again) and I finish the wine. I make my nephew a chinchilla-skin kaleidoscope and rinse the rocks stained with dreams. My mother comments on the apple tree's symmetry while the trees below keep running bases.

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Apr 23, 2012

Apr 23, 2012 at 9:27 AM UTC

sarah-meow

Dragon-flies (Sestina)

I asked my mother for a glass kaleidoscope, but instead she handed me three shots of wine and a field guide to running galactic bases, which I guess is her way of selling dreams at low prices. I have yet to understand a coffee shop's symmetry, so I embrace the scrupulous company of a dragon-riding-a-butterfly. One spin around the Milky Way leaves the butterfly with holey wings and the dragon vomiting in my make-shift kaleidoscope. The apple tree in the corner of the living room ruins the symmetry of the space and I have to chug another glass of wine to make up for the peach tree I couldn't dream about and another wrong note sung by the basses. The song's in too low of a key, which is the basis behind the evil chinchilla's plan to mass-produce butterfly farms as part of a larger goal to pillage the dreams of dreamers. Luckily, we all have a handy-dandy kaleidoscope and a bag (or two) of bitter-tasting wine stolen from their boxes -- too much symmetry. My brother put a block on local news; the symmetry of our county's border was too much for me to bear. He bases his action (when mother asks) on the wine he didn't drink, so I throw the broken butterfly out the window where it lands on my nephew's spinning kaleidoscope. He doesn't know it yet, but that drum he's banging will envelop his dreams. A hike to the top of the cliff (a leap) re-energizes my dreams and I still can't relate to the maple leaves and their symmetry, but at least I can look through a lampshade at the kaleidoscope of trees dancing below me. There are seven thousand bases yet to run and they still haven't caught the butterfly, so a boy yells, "Drink!" and I take another sip of wine. The dragon and chinchilla are tipsy from the wine at this point and discuss the difference between dreams and electricity while my mother sautés the butterfly in ice cream and abstract ideas. The symmetry of my right ankle is still a bother, so I tell the basses to sing a quarter tone flat while I collide a scope. Off goes dragon-with-butterfly (once again) and I finish the wine. I make my nephew a chinchilla-skin kaleidoscope and rinse the rocks stained with dreams. My mother comments on the apple tree's symmetry while the trees below keep running bases.