Beneath the Violets

source

Although he should have know he would get caught

His boundless arrogance encouraged him

He couldn't understand how he got got

Male vanity so often makes wits dim

Desirous of both the sun and shade

Well, you know how that greedy story goes

His rendezvous deep in a forest glade

He thought it secret but we know talk flows

They both confronted him with all his lies

Dried tears upon their faces cold as stone

Where trust no longer flourishes, love dies

For all his sins, he never could atone

He's buried in their yard beneath the lawn

The violets now grow brighter since he's gone.

submitted for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Sunday Challenge, Bout Rimes

Beginning Witchery

witch by MercuroBCotto

Shannan entered the scene just as Lola finished the spell:
"I warned you to stop catcalling women on the street! Now I'll turn you into a newt!"
Shannan assessed the man, now reptile, and sighed
"You better practice your spells. This is a skink, not a newt!"
Lola countered
"Skink, newt, same difference. He's got 4 legs and a tail."
"Well, by that logic, you may as well have turned him into a toy poodle!" Shannan fumed
"Sloppy spells come from an undisciplined mind. You need to focus, Lola!"
"Quit hounding me, Shannan! You're such a perfectionist!"
And with that, Lola pointed at Shannan and mumbled some incomprehensible words
"Ha! How do you like that, Ms. Perfect?!! I turned you into a frog! Now go hop away and leave me alone!"
The amphibian, formerly human, stared at Lola and spoke in a perturbed monotone
"I'm a toad, you nitwit."

submitted for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads,Tuesday Platform 

Keep Your Balance

source

The head turns too quickly and

The room becomes a dizzying carnival ride

Mundane objects

pass in and out of vision like Dorothy's tornado

turn sinister in twisted vision:

Here's a stapler

Here's a desk chair

Here's a purse

Here's a window

Here's a pen

All fly by, ungraspable

Here is what you tell yourself:

It's all right

This feeling will pass

Hang on

You can get through this

Don't vomit

Calm down

Here is what you must do:

Lie down (the floor will do)

Close your eyes

Ignore the low hum/high ring  in your ear

Breathe

Breathe

Breathe

Wait

When it's over:

Assess the damage

Sit up slowly

Drink some water

Walk a straight line

Listen

Keep your balance

Keep your balance.

submitted for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, FB Friday, Recipe for...Poetry

Bird Watching

source

City sounds

Urban birdsong

A cacophonous May canvas

"Shoe shine! Shoooooe shine! Shooooooe shiiiine!"

sings a gray feathered bird

his capped head bent over

his springtime work

"Needa fat bitch! Oooooh, I needa fat bitch!"

another's shrill chirp distracts

passersby

Pigeons peck at the sidewalk

for crumbs

A small brown bird lands

on my shoulder

"Gotta minute? Gotta minute?"

he chirps in my ear

I pause to listen

Lost nest, hungry babies

Feeling the pull of the crowd

I almost brush him off then

consider the $35 box of gourmet donuts

tucked under my own wing

Give him money for food

and a little more for his family

Then watch him fly away.

submitted for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Tuesday Platform

Baltimore Burns

Baltimore burns

Blame the police
Blame the kids
Blame the thugs
Blame the agitators
It doesn't matter who
lit the match
The city is full of  kindling
to feed the flames

Fire fueled
by poverty
hopelessness
injustice
disenfranchisement
empty promises
Watch it burn to the ground

Watch it on our TVs
in our big houses
in our safe, green suburbs
Shake our heads and withdraw
from the insistent sea of angry black faces
Our own fragment of reality
so much more pleasant

We, the privileged,
who send our sons off to school
with a peck on the cheek
don't wonder whether they'll come back
We
who curse the crabgrass in our yards
not the clay colored stain of dried blood
on our sidewalks
We
whose souls are unbattered
ungnawed by daily injustices
ground down by despair
We
who matter
without having to write it
shout it
burn it
into consciousness
to make people pay attention.

submitted to Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Get Listed for May, Pablo Neruda