Melissa was thinking about flowers
No particular reason,
Today was just a flower day is all
Everybody beautiful
Everybody happy
Everybody and everything flowers
Lattes are lilies
And cappuccino roses
And the espresso machine
is a flowering garden
Where steam snakes
Sprout vines and bloom
Flowers in cups
For happy flower people
His voice is rich compost
And honey mesquite
Golden flowers pop
From his speech balloon
A humming bird darts and bobs
Lands on a branch
and jets off into the woods
A rich cacophony
green with laughter
and mad with flowers
His face the sun
his words the eager earth
his lips the rain
He gets something special
He gets holding of hands and snuggles
He gets puffy pink flowers
and bumble bees.
Author: Franklyn Monk
A Love Story
Like Romeo and Juliet
Had Juliet ran off with some other guy
And Romeo struggled a decade to die
Maybe earthquakes
First thunder
and then wind
But the thunder could have been rumbling
And the wind not that great
The thunder rolls again
But followed by clanks, and two-strike motors.
And again by light aircraft
But there has been clouds
And more thunder
With a blast of cool air
If it’s not strip mining
With the concussive wave
Somehow ferrying crispness
It might mean rain
But it’s might mean rain-
ing for days
I might been dancing for days
Naked in the rain
I haven’t
Yet there is thunder
And thunder booms hope
For a spell
Then fades into sunburn
And deliberate breathing
Bolster your philosophical impact
Think of it as a convenience charge. You could write this schlock, but it’s time consuming, and it takes you places you’d rather not go. That’s where I come in. I sacrifice my life to ensure our allied viewpoints are preserved.
I write for you lover, outcast, left behind and forgotten.
For you scholar, explorer, tinkerer, fool.
Natural, cosmic, and mundane.
These poems aren’t for me,
They aren’t even for me and you.
They are for us, allies—
extant, and yet to be.
I serve your current fanciful and poetic needs, but I also make testament to the sublime balancing act of our time for our future allies, like that teenager of 2032, curled up in some dark hole, will know that our time was more than conflict and strife, hatred anger abuse and drought. There were people, your allies, and they strode proud in defiance and in love. They saw the world not so differently from you.
In 2100 someone mesmerized by our time is wondering WTF happened back then, and even with changes in the language, they’ll know we ran naked in jungles and ate fruit from the vine.
In the 2200s, on an outpost on Mars, someone feels a connection to the ancient past: others have known heartache and abandonment.
2300s, and people don’t talk anymore, so much as commune, and they quiver in joy: intelligence makes due and survives, and emotion is a part of that.
Running a poetic time capsule is expensive, and consuming, and I need your help. Your patronage will ensure that our allied world views, and our secret selves, have a voice.
In case you missed it
In case you missed it, I just posted two poems that I failed to post before. I backdated them so they appear way back.
EDIT 9/5/14: I just published some old blog posts, but I ain’t saying what they are, don’t know if I could find them myself.