Cheap poetry, September 4–11

Tomatoes wilt and poplars yellow
Yet still the air is hot
This isn’t autumn warm and mellow
But hell, I think, we’ve got.

A second thought occurs, as thoughts will do
Hell wouldn’t have this much mildew.

Autumn-clad, they gather
Round summer’s last blooms
Drinking its memory.

As evening descends, we scatter / with solitary purpose, in the same direction.

In the time to compose
a cheap little quatrain
about threats the clouds pose:
Buckets of rain.

Our minds stand stiff, like bristles
of a brush, to scrub away

The weather service warns me direly, to wit:
There might be a flood! Well, thanks. No &#$@.

Chickens strut and squabble
for dominance, never seeing
the shadow of the axe.

When life pus obstacles in your way
‘Tis not to make you weaker
But to give you a story, so that you may
Become a motivational speaker.

Lollipop sentinels line the path
Melting from lime to cherry.

Summer breaks like waves; the air
is crisp like apples green and fair.

I’m sure that your Prius gets pretty good mileage
But a mule would eat nothing but green grass and silage.

We listen, dumb, to the hum, chatter, beep
Of enough wire to garotte the world in its sleep.

Sentences spray
like gunpowder, or spittle.
Before running your mouth, whittle.

If you like cheap poetry, read the explanation and manifesto.

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