Moody Meow

Honor of America

Plastic bags in a tutu,
she danced sitting down
beneath the overhang;
her honor cloth,
an American flag.
It rained last night.
I listened to the lightening from
my fluffy red couch
immersed in warm blankets.
The air conditioner running at 73.
I discussed the addition of a new television
Fourty two inches of HD indulgence.
I’m a consumer.
And she dances on the side walk,
sitting down among cigarette butts
and the muck from the heels of those who
oass her by, and who ignore
that her honor cloth
is an American flag.

Artisan Clouds

Translucent orb, above the veins of the city
quietly tries to remind the hurried
that a storm moved through last night
pulling the clouds like coral-colored waves
behind it.
The Atlantic Ocean will swell with the winds
that incited my sycamore to dance a rain dance
and the only ones to watch
fishermen, mermaids and the birds that dare to ride
will see the triumphant colors in the pulling of the tide
through the sky.

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Understand that I never claim to be a poet, but sometimes I feel in unconventional phrases. Just sometimes….