"xeriscape" poems - Hello Poetry

There's something brutally honest about A dog in heat ******* your leg. I'd like to explore this theme with you, But I can't right now. I just got home from my Nightly walk inside the gates Of my over-55 lunatic asylum, And I gotta get this down on paper, VERBATIM. I'm wearing sandals tonight, unlike This morning's power walk in Skechers. I'm strolling around the turn At the corner of Don January & Lee Trevino, And look clearly into a curtain-less, Shade-free living room. BAM! Poleaxed, gobsmacked, am I. She's sitting in a Barcalounger, Spotlighted by a pole lamp. Naked, her legs spread & ********* herself. Stunned dead in my tracks, am I. By this time she's standing in her Open doorway, calling to me: "Hello Dere!" She is a silver-haired sireen, A granny Marty Allen. "Take me," she demands. Sometimes I'm a little slow on the uptake, But there was no mistaking that invitation. "Wait right here," I say. "I want to go home, shower & Brush my teeth." "No , you idiot," she answers. *"Take me now." "I want to be ravished by a brute, ***** by a savage, A mountain man from Boulder."* I assume she means Boulder, Colorado. Now, I can't promise that this is a Daily occurrence at Del Webb Alegria, "For Active Adults" But it happened to me. Walking home I see a crowd. Some neighbors admiring the Asian couple's landscaping prowess. For weeks they've been pulling off a Green grass to drought-tolerant Xeriscape switcheroo. "Bravo!" I yell. "Nicely done!" Finally, I am home. Exhausted, I flop down in My over-stuffed leather armchair. Pen in hand. Notebook open. From across the room, My dog sidles over A glazed look in his eyes.

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Aug 13, 2016

Aug 13, 2016 at 12:11 AM UTC

giuseppi-martino-buonaiuto

"Boulder Mountain Man"

There's something brutally honest about A dog in heat ******* your leg. I'd like to explore this theme with you, But I can't right now. I just got home from my Nightly walk inside the gates Of my over-55 lunatic asylum, And I gotta get this down on paper, VERBATIM. I'm wearing sandals tonight, unlike This morning's power walk in Skechers. I'm strolling around the turn At the corner of Don January & Lee Trevino, And look clearly into a curtain-less, Shade-free living room. BAM! Poleaxed, gobsmacked, am I. She's sitting in a Barcalounger, Spotlighted by a pole lamp. Naked, her legs spread & ********* herself. Stunned dead in my tracks, am I. By this time she's standing in her Open doorway, calling to me: "Hello Dere!" She is a silver-haired sireen, A granny Marty Allen. "Take me," she demands. Sometimes I'm a little slow on the uptake, But there was no mistaking that invitation. "Wait right here," I say. "I want to go home, shower & Brush my teeth." "No , you idiot," she answers. *"Take me now." "I want to be ravished by a brute, ***** by a savage, A mountain man from Boulder."* I assume she means Boulder, Colorado. Now, I can't promise that this is a Daily occurrence at Del Webb Alegria, "For Active Adults" But it happened to me. Walking home I see a crowd. Some neighbors admiring the Asian couple's landscaping prowess. For weeks they've been pulling off a Green grass to drought-tolerant Xeriscape switcheroo. "Bravo!" I yell. "Nicely done!" Finally, I am home. Exhausted, I flop down in My over-stuffed leather armchair. Pen in hand. Notebook open. From across the room, My dog sidles over A glazed look in his eyes.

56

Why plant A fragile heart In the wrong place Setting it up To suffocate Like a tulip In a xeriscape

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May 25, 2020

May 25, 2020 at 1:04 AM UTC

MrsTimetable

Tulip

Why plant A fragile heart In the wrong place Setting it up To suffocate Like a tulip In a xeriscape

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The most prominent year of my childhood Was the one in which we shared a bedroom. In a classic telling of time dilation, It's the only part I can recall, As if we spent years sharing nightmares and visions And secrets that we buried in the graying carpet. The carpet is musty And there is cat hair in our brown hair from when he Slithers into the dollhouse when Our backs are turned. We shake him out and He bolts down the stairs. We climb up the stairs in tactile daydreams Where we can play the piano And speak boldly. We speak softly To not wake your mother, Asleep from the nightshift next room over. We dig our fingers in the carpet in the mornings Sat between my mother’s knees As she pulls our hair into matching styles. We are uneven twins, Short and tall, Curled and straight, Loud and faint. Even now, without the matching dresses Or braids, Which are now cut and dyed As if we mutually agreed it was tied to something we needed to forget. We unlearn the role of xeriscape ghost, And we hunt the ones that haunted us When you left after a year, Your mother pulling you into a car seat, And mine, indoors. In another classic case of time dilation, No time passed at all.

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Apr 23, 2020

Apr 23, 2020 at 9:23 PM UTC

VerdinSongbird

familial hauntings

The most prominent year of my childhood Was the one in which we shared a bedroom. In a classic telling of time dilation, It's the only part I can recall, As if we spent years sharing nightmares and visions And secrets that we buried in the graying carpet. The carpet is musty And there is cat hair in our brown hair from when he Slithers into the dollhouse when Our backs are turned. We shake him out and He bolts down the stairs. We climb up the stairs in tactile daydreams Where we can play the piano And speak boldly. We speak softly To not wake your mother, Asleep from the nightshift next room over. We dig our fingers in the carpet in the mornings Sat between my mother’s knees As she pulls our hair into matching styles. We are uneven twins, Short and tall, Curled and straight, Loud and faint. Even now, without the matching dresses Or braids, Which are now cut and dyed As if we mutually agreed it was tied to something we needed to forget. We unlearn the role of xeriscape ghost, And we hunt the ones that haunted us When you left after a year, Your mother pulling you into a car seat, And mine, indoors. In another classic case of time dilation, No time passed at all.

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