Spring is sprung.
Clouds of maple.
Skies of pine.

Red in green.
Serviceberry understory.
Spring is sprung.

Skunk cabbage spathe.
Black birch sap.
Poplar flowers.

Opossum tires.
Spring is sprung.
Blackbird wing.

Wasps won't sting.
My father died.
Town meeting Monday.

Spring is sprung.
Sing cuccu!
There's no down side.

Infinite willow.
Leaning oak.
Spring and sprung.

Budding flame.
Budding thumb.
Cat claw.

Bird yolk.
Spring is sprung.
Dandelion

Shoots. Arrowhead
Roots. Waterproof
Boots. Old bed young.

Spring is sprung.
Ring and wrong.
Thank and thought.

Seed and sawn.
Wait and walk.
Spring is sprung.

Torment, what bliss I did 
to owe this primrose path 
that transgression thee commit 
and rejoice in my spathe. 

Yon through the frigid lake 
thee come cold and earnest 
thy end no prey shall see 
thee bring the brawny mist. 

Thy tales did tribes tell 
of vagrants in mausoleum held 
who call to see the cherubim sing 
those men till end in delirium dwell. 

Voices of myriad bards I heard 
who oracled my ruin in thee 
that if I breathe thy arid wind 
death shall soon coax me. 

So colorable their denounces seem 
for once methought, 
they had me charmed 
shall I abstain me to thee or naught. 

But when thee to me clearly come 
and to me wed thy three beauty lass 
my mind cleared as cloudless sky 
then, gay, I walked through dark crevasse. 

There in the wilderness I found me home 
I learned in life the need of pain 
that to heal thee art the perfect partner
in thee is life exquisite attained.

“As arrant squall enters from all corners,
As our daily rituals must procure to dormant,
Lacking warmth of suns touch upon our skin,
As the winter winds ere upon our ambience,  

As our once daily formality would bring us,
Alongside a cool pool a beach or just quirks,
A spathe of skin an apprise bronze from the sun,
As dangling brown leaves parched fall to terrain,

As a sunken suns down in early afternoons,
The winter bellowing of moons as they procure,
Branches of once fruits and such now withered,
Now lay along the cold grown fallen as chill beckons,
The winter sings of creeping crows,

Beneath the blaze of summer hung the beauty foliage,
Flowers to be inherent upon a warming spring,  
Graciously arranged to fade beneath a winters squall,
Once bright green leaves dying and sizzling on the trees,
As lonely fledgling birds pay respect as they fly west,
As they seem to say Adieux Summer once again”

By Andrew Guzaldo © 10/30/2019 #170

Nuns **** monks
tumble in blood trickling ******
geriatric hymens pierced by withered shafts.

Prometheus unbound
makes a pet of his tormentor
they go hunting.

Parasites
feeding on poets and madman
burst like leeches
pinched mid-draught.

Terrorists
removed from solitary
into the sun
roundly embraced
by maimed survivors of their carnage.

The firing squad squint down their barrels
leaving the flowers
where they are.

Gacy's children
Starkweather's heirs,
met at the gas chamber
are kissed
by every man, woman and child
who lost someone
to their slaughter.

Cerberus weeps
abandons his post for the fields
chases three squirrels
tennis *****
catches none.

He sleeps now
on pillows of sativa
bay laurel
and spathe.