Sunday, November 16, 2008


As jaded ravens jabber raucous jeers
from barren autumn branches amply bent
a lonely figure lumbers feeling lost
for callow trinkets couldn’t tame the cost
of vicious hatred’s vengeful heated vent
that plainly wounded pity wielding peers.
The dimness slowly dwindles, sending dawn
to open up the options users opt
for, quelling nervous questions’ nagging. Quit
the grumpy kicking, grow some kind of grit—
your mama isn’t missing if she mopped,
but younger efforts yielded errors (yawn).
To zero out the zenith of your zeal
will undermine the solid with unreal.


kheywood said...

Bob, I really like the sounds of this poem - the alliterative pattern of the lines. Nice work!

Word Catalyst Magazine said...

I agree but I think I would have called it Jigsaw! It's one of those that makes you keep rereading to put the pieces together.

rch said...

Thanks a lot. I know it's over the top but I was just playing with words.