We Are What Is

Thomas Hart Benson

Winds

Coastal blows

Draw us close

Knit and stitched

We breathe as one

With separate lungs

We are what is

Not skewed in cubes

Or obtuse views

All natural

In our region

Left of June

Under sun and tides of moon

Hope's Infatuation

Spring loves morning's dawn

Releases dreams to breezes

Hope's reflection sings

Encroachment

There’s an Oak in the woods that tells tales

About cypress, maples, and pines

All the saplings would listen

And pay close attention

About the humans

Their encroachment

Man’s hunger

To kill

Trees

Not Guilty

I don’t want to hear the jury’s logic

No thought or twisted reason

No instinct or whim of fancy

My heart fluttered like rapids on a river

Interrupted my buzz

A poem for the world

Galloping to resist the echo of

Not guilty

For Wordle 12

Bobbie Gail

Bobbie Gail is not my friend

Ice cubes

Turncoat

Crocodile

Hootchie momma

Bobbie Gail

Is

Two

Crazy

Hells

Bobbie Gail is not my friend

Is

That

Clear

Hmmmmmmmmmmmm

Or do I need to spell it out


NOTE:  Bobbie Gail is a totally fictional character; trust me.

Let Me Fall Above

ǝʌoqɐ llɐɟ ǝɯ ʇǝl
ǝʌol ɹnoʎ ɹoɟ sʞuɐɥʇ
ǝɯoɹ ɟo oƃ ’uıʇʇǝl
ǝɯoɥ ’uıɯoɔ ɯ’ı

ʇdʎɹɔ sıɥʇ ɟo oƃ ʇǝl ll’ı
ʇınb ɐuuoƃ ʇ’uıɐ noʎ ǝɔuıs ʇnq
uʍop ǝpısdn plɹoʍ ʎɯ uɹnʇ
punoɟ ǝq ı ɟı ǝɹɐɔ noʎ ʎɥʍ

ǝuoƃ sɐɥ ǝɯıʇ ʎɯ

ƃuolɐ uo ǝʌoɯ
ǝɯoɥ ʎɯ sı sıɥʇ
ǝuolɐ ǝɯ ǝʌɐǝl

uʍoɹɔ uǝploƃ ou pǝǝu ʇ’uop ı
uʍoɹɟ ʎɟɯoɔ sıɥʇ ɹɐǝʍ ǝɯ ʇǝl
oƃ ǝɯ ʇǝl ʇsnɾ p’noʎ ɥsıʍ
ʍouʞ ʇ’uop ı ǝɯ ǝʌol noʎ ʎɥʍ

sʇsɐɔ ɟo pǝǝu uı sǝuoq uǝʞoɹq
ʇsɐd sǝɹıds uı ǝpıɥ ǝɯ ʇǝl
uʍop ǝpısdn plɹoʍ ʎɯ uɹnʇ
punoɟ ǝq ı ɟı ǝɹɐɔ noʎ ʎɥʍ

ǝuoƃ sɐɥ ǝɯıʇ ʎɯ
ƃuolɐ uo ǝʌoɯ
ǝɯoɥ ʎɯ sı sıɥʇ
ǝuolɐ ǝɯ ǝʌɐǝl

ʇɥƃıɹlɐ uo ʇǝƃ ı puɐ ʇsɐd ǝɥʇ
ʇɥƃıu ǝɥʇ uı ƃuıpıɥ ǝʞıl ı
 ʎqɐllnl ʎɯ ʎɹɔ ǝɯ ʇǝl
ʎq sʞɔıʇ ǝɯıʇ ɟı ǝɹɐɔ ʇ’uop ı

pǝq ʎɯ oʇ ʞɔɐq lʍɐɹɔ ǝɯ ʇǝl
ʞɔǝu ʎɯ punoɹ‘ ǝlƃuɐɹʇs ǝlƃunɾ
pɐǝp ǝɥʇ oʇ uo ƃuıƃuɐɥ
pɐǝɥ ʎɯ oʇ ƃuıɥsnɹ poolq

Neil Alexander

Need Shade

We are going to the river

On the sunny north bank

It needs shade

Dad says it’s a good idea

I’m going to leave you there

And return for many visits

Even sitting in your cool shadow

With my great granddaughter

And talk about her mother’s

Mother …

… my mommy

And have a tea party

Like she did with me

Her ashes will help you grow

And protect us on the treeless side

Of the big-o-river wide

Where mommy fell asleep in her car

With a letter asking

Why

Were going to the river

On the sunny north bank

It needs some shade

PRISUN

I see sun

But no dawn

Please

Van Gogh

Trapped in agony’s abstract expression

Paralyzed sunrise

Green eyes surprised eternally

With the sameness of insane

Every day

Same on same

Please

Allow this dawn to breathe

Smell real grass not splashed with oil

Scents of real soil

Warmth from sun’s embrace

Shade cooled by rolling hills

A place

Clocks tick

Faucets drip

Wheat waves at living skies

Never to fade from time

Not a trick of trade

But perspective

From soul

Please

Allow this dawn to breathe

July My Winter

Art by Bonnie from http://originalartstudio.blogspot.com/

Silence whispers sonnets sung of summers passed

Weathered feathered dusty quill tips lay alone

Swollen eyelids secret hide behind dark glass

Barren pages blaring white bleach purged of groans

Purple curtains darkly tied forbid light’s pass

Missing laughter’s purring smile beneath crushed stone

July

My winter

I drink mint tea

And listen

To her sing

Silence whispers sonnets sung of summers passed