Holy Boats (day 1956)

Blame not the recharge
Left slowly puddling into a dark corner
Of this uneven hardwood floor,
Nor should holy boats
Hold these oars tightly so.
Thee witness’ callused palm
Scrapes dry a soiled seat,
And a martyr hangs listlessly
As townsfolk carry on.
Mild wind blows a crooked sign
Making rust set within,
Harder then an open wound
Stronger then the sun.

Setting Sun (day 1730)

I am sorry for the overdraft on expenses
For the withdrawal of complete funds
And exercising my options.

But I’m not.

I’m lying and it’s not a puddle of sadness.
I’m drowning and it’s not because of the waterline,
It’s a challenge and that’s just alright.

Cause Momma’s pullin in six figures
And Daddy’s got a gun
And I ain’t coming back from paradise
‘Til long after setting sun.

A Horticulturalists Dream (day 1161)

Summer air and little drops
That puddle jump night to sleep.
From every lair come out great worms
Slithering through fresh mud.
Slugs depart on epic journeys
Across deep dark blacktop oceans.
And as all things growing
Most desire
Freshness from great rains,
Morning brings what can be called
A horticulturalists most desirable dream.

Rocket Queen (day 146)

Aloof and alone
Too busy to moan
Fancy footing and ill fitting
Damned these clothes together again

Loose belts
And low knickers
High hopes and bed wetters
Chances are slim to none, I hope

Rainbows and proud Wellies
Puddle hops and muddled tops
Crowd gained, a crowd lost
Proud moments for me, mother