Life wind, timpani roll, rushes
round steadfast soldier serving.
Flooding sound bleaching color,
trailing taupe, phone ringing…
Crisis, crushing ego, dust,
stinging eyes, closing throat.
Over oceans, flies finest throat.
Exhausted ear, forward, rushes
finding strawberry love in the dust.
On the eager edge, laps color
blasting temptation. Soldier serving
tours counted by bells not ringing.
Sighs, moans, cries and cheers ringing
round mute heart (a mutilated throat)
Chain gain shackled, sentences serving,
hammers pounding rhythms to dust.
Outside, dawn’s purple rushes,
shivers, slicing sky with color.
Flushed face, rose in color.
Syllable chirps of a poem ringing.
An autumns’ chill rushes
(pizza, in a cemetery, serving).
Memories gasp, an old man’s throat,
made hoarse under years of dust.
“Hey everyone look here!” No dust.
(Vivid, immediate, living color)
No dark lot, no hoarse throat
whisper. Clanging poems ringing
across wires, for everyone, serving.
In, like kids at recess, rumor rushes.
Timpani of life rolls and rushes
Raining love’s confetti like dust
Giggles of recess children serving
ice cream memories, delicious color.
Writer’s block… brain freeze ringing.
Muting words trapped in a silent throat.
Recess. Timpanis roll muted, colors ringing.
Dust rushed from throat, replaced
by strawberries, her poems serving.
The drum brings so much to the surface and keeps so much below it, too. This is a remarkable response of the inner world to the outer one.
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