Today we list things.
Only the fool places faith in things.
Only the foolish worship things.
But the wise see things
As simply things in context:
Today the sun has set leaving a clear sky
Tinged blue with pink,
Glowing and arcing above the
Deepling grey of the fellside.
Today the buzzard soared overhead
And its keening cry pierced
To the heart of the day.
Today the magnolia opened its flower
And smiled at the spring sunshine.
And today the fools clutched at straws.
Again.
(c) 2ndwitch, 09/04/19
A wee blog to contain the poetry written for each year's NaPoWriMo (http://www.napowrimo.net), a yearly month of poetry writing challenges that I first did in 2014. The blog title is deliberately written to mean two different things of course!!
Showing posts with label magnolia. Show all posts
Showing posts with label magnolia. Show all posts
Tuesday, 9 April 2019
Tuesday, 2 April 2019
GloPoWriMo2019 Day Two
Today is a day of questions.
Have the fools yet left the house?
Have the fools come to a conclusion?
Have the fools decided?
Have the fools yet left the house?
In this world of sunshine and showers
Where grass is growing
And the magnolia is about to burst into bloom,
In this world of rolling traffic
And buses that stop
To let people on or off,
Or off or on,
In this world, why are there fools?
April is a foolish month.
Perhaps it is the month
When the flying pasta lord,
The monster of spaghetti ,
Was Born, or rather, extruded?
Perhaps it is the month
When little lambs leap
And play in sporting oblivion?
Perhaps it is the month
When the non-foolish ones
Will allow sense to surface
And demolish the house of fools?
Or perhaps it is not?
(c) 2ndwitch, 02/04/19
Have the fools yet left the house?
Have the fools come to a conclusion?
Have the fools decided?
Have the fools yet left the house?
In this world of sunshine and showers
Where grass is growing
And the magnolia is about to burst into bloom,
In this world of rolling traffic
And buses that stop
To let people on or off,
Or off or on,
In this world, why are there fools?
April is a foolish month.
Perhaps it is the month
When the flying pasta lord,
The monster of spaghetti ,
Was Born, or rather, extruded?
Perhaps it is the month
When little lambs leap
And play in sporting oblivion?
Perhaps it is the month
When the non-foolish ones
Will allow sense to surface
And demolish the house of fools?
Or perhaps it is not?
(c) 2ndwitch, 02/04/19
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