A Nod to Punctuation

poppy seedhead

 

She’ll pick him an asterisk

or a comma or two; full

stops, ideas tied off in

neat packages, have always

eluded his dialogue,

circumvented an outcome.

.

Her dreams have become dangling

participles, unfinished

pages with Schubert’s flavour,

unable to hold hyphen’s

place – waiting, always waiting,

a watched pot that never boils.

.

Phrases, nuances, shadings

of meaning get bogged down, dragged

through the spittle of run-on

sentences; she slams the door

on the argument, her shoes

leaving angry editing

marks on the stairs. Period.

 

The Storm is Brewing

The storm is brewing, I feel its glare

In the words unsaid, in your stony stare.

A hush descends, a quiet brood

That penetrates my stormy mood.

Unnatural calm, in stillness thick,

Lies heavily, as nits we pick.

Unsettled, each mind changes pace,

Recants, and brews, and can’t save face.

 Oh, for torrents wild and wet,

Appeasing stormy weather’s threat!

The Call of the Wild…

Image courtesy of Photo Nature Blog

Arthur, I’ve had it, you good-for-naught brute!

You sit there and listen – I’ve something to say!

The kids are eating us out of home and nest,

Their incessant chatter drives me insane !

I know times are lean with the factory closed –

But this cheap housing complex you chose is the pits!

How’s a girl supposed to raise her young

When hooligan neighbours scare her out of her wits?

I’m run off my wings catching bugs for our brood

While you go off with the boys for your fun;

The roof has sprung leaks and the doorway’s a mess,

I tell you, I’ve had it!  It’s over, I’m done!