An arabesque tapestry, Buttercups and Shepard's Purse co-mingle below park trees. Destiny is brutal for a weed. Elephant roots overpower the path filled with the final petals of an early spring. Gone are the purples and pinks, headless daffodils remain, bald and shivering. Is it this way of things? Jungle gyms to outlive us all. Kiddies on squeaky swings, lemon sun yearly squeezed, which marks the flesh before it's wrung. Names and faces bleached clean on dusty fields where battered gloves position for the fly ball that never comes. Quiet as the last inning when the ref signals fair ball. Shade, our true salvation, when all is done. Tough to uproot the Deadnettles under the gleaming metal bleachers vacationing in partial-sun. When will we embrace their wisdom? Xenial green fields seem endless. Yards of pastures unused zig-zagging us towards disuse.
©2023 | K.F. Hartless
Cover Art: William Morris 1895 “Mille Fleur”
NaPoWriMo#19 Today, I’d like to challenge you to write an abecedarian poem – a poem in which the word choice follows the words/order of the alphabet. You could write a very strict abecedarian poem, in which there are twenty-six words in alphabetical order, or you could write one in which each line begins with a word that follows the order of the alphabet.
Ha! Today, you didn’t win. I finished this poem, even if I’m not quite sure what it means. Maybe this new music video by Paris Paloma will help.
Yard Sale of Thoughts 
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