Recollections

I know many of you who read this may still be stuck in winter. I thought I would provide some stored memories in poetry. In my neck of the woods the pre-dawn temperature is 76. I am pulling weeds everyday as they sprout ahead of my grass. Spring here can't be far off. I think poetry should be entertaining and understandable. I suppose the some academics in this venue would not care for my plain style. Well, I don't care for their dark, profane, and non-intelligible styles either. I wrote this poem to poke a little fun.

I Salute You William Shakespeare

If I could just remember who wrote what,
and what they said,
I would quote them in my poetry,
the living and the dead.

I would be obtuse and dark,
droning on in endless prose.
not caring where my poem’s been
not knowing where it goes.

They’d think I’m educated
Ivy League, maybe Harvard.
For sure an academic.
cutting edge, avant garde.”

I would throw the cesspool at them
from bathroom to bordello.
A gasp, a blush, a whisper,
“He is such a brilliant fellow.”

They would clap when I was finished,
softly sigh, and nod assent.
And wonder if the others
had a clue of what I meant.

April Impressions

Zephyrs stir miniature
soldiers of lavender
and salmon pink
standing at attention
on a carpet of pastel green.

Purple tendrils
surround a phone pole.

Splashes of white and pink
peak out from
winter’s stark remnants.

An ice blue sky
domes the hillsides
carpeted in yellow and blue.

Songbird fugues
pierce the air
backed up by the
steady gurgle of a
crystal stream.

Subtle hints of perfume
carried on the breeze
refresh and revive
my wakening spirit.