2 years my little field
by tnun

Comment:
i'm so pleased to find this is yours.
you shoot the most emotive weeds.

One More Day
by mrbig65

Comment:
Pale and weedy
Dark and weedy
Rift and sift with every breeze

Grow so fast but never ready
Indetermination shows
Indiscriminate, he mows

The Empty Playground
by posthumous

Comment:
I crawled to the monkey bars
And found myself in a rut
There were neither beers nor cocktails
But the monkeys flew out of my butt.

I swam to the milky way
And found a pig in a poke
We spend the night makin bacon
And snicker whenever we smoke.

I flew to the Dali Museum
But now can't remember the trip
Yet I got me a handlebar mustache
And a clock that goes tick tock drip.

2 years my little field
by tnun

Comment:
Two years my little field
Since I fled and left you fallow

Your gamish of gilded grassheads
Gaily sways

I'll return in springtime
To shoo the snakes and woodchucks

Impose my patterns upon your patterns
Pair furrows with purpose
And pray

That the churlish crow may spare some seed to grow.

Such a devilish quand'ry I've got
by GeneralE

Comment:
Such a devilish quand'ry I've got,
On the horns of a ticklish elision.
Here, writing verse in the parking lot,
Praying there'll be no collision.

Here, writing verse when the pavement's hot,
Hoping to avoid the confusion
Caused by composing the perfect shot,
since offered to this collusion.

Thus, such a devilish quand'ry I've got,
This pursuit of null derision.
We've combined for an intersecting plot
While avoiding a sound decision.

,

Song of the Hummingbird.
by JayneRyan

Comment:
The Poets are tired
of singing.
No breath to be spared
for the feathery.
Swallow the song
in hummingbird gulps,
belch,
incensed with ambrosia.

Drivin' Along A Country Road
by GolferDDS

Comment:
I love retaining walls, their sandwiched stones
with daisies pushing through their moss toupees.
A vasty field that weds blue bachelors
to legs of Queen Anne's lace... perhaps a stream
along the side, if not a smallish lake
where frogs and ambered autumn trees admire
soft reflections as they please. The clapboard,
pale green, and shutters, iron-hinged, succeed
the grouted rocks the garden shed displays.
The turret's roof boasts perfect disks of slate,
creates a moire pattern in the sun.
Bevelled windows waver like a dream
and sparrows flit inside the outhouse, twitter
through the wink of crescent moon. My craning
neck is sore. Such verdancy along
this country road, my envy's lush abode.

And in the Summer Haze
by vawendy

Comment:
And in the Summer Haze, the river,
sheened and still and bright, concealed
the lively dartings of the carp and shad. We had
no need for sight. A fisherman can somehow touch
the current flux and know, through soles
of shoes and waverings in heavy air, the time to pause
and cast and pray to catch his share of what's below.

The Frog
by Phocal

Comment:
When you see a muddy puddle,
tap your fuddy-duddy buddy
(for the sight may be too subtle).
Be sure he's set and ready
to view the paddling taddies
with their gams gambolling madly.
For those fish soon cease their swishing,
and begin their froggy wobble,
hurtling only when they're startled.
But in the evening, they're an earful.
Listen to their lust for twilight.
Leggy froggies' treble warbles
lilt libidinous amphibabble.

Though pollywogs are soggy,
blowing bubbly growing troubles,
sunning frogs are only groggy,
singing shady serenades.

What is holding you back
by MargaretNet

Comment:
Put the sand back in the hourglass
Put the hourglass back in your figure
Put the figures back in your account
Put the accounts back in order
Put the order back in the law
Put the law back on your side
Put your side next to my side
With your stride matching my stride
Walk forward onto the sand
Put your hand back in my hand.