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Wait for It

a thought came
twirling down
from a graying November tree,
one of the last to fall,
announcing,

‘look at all my crusts of death,
and answer me.

–bipeds of clay,
do you doubt when
howling winds, ice, and snow
embalm
our root to rock,
that Spring will squeeze
out of us
baby buds again?

for each change
the wintertime will become warm,
the dark will lift,
the lawns will need a cut
and misfortune will become
laughter again.’

bowing, the child of earth
hunkered down
waiting

..

.

© Brian Hodgkinson Jr. (aka) Limerict 2021

 
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Posted by on March 21, 2021 in Poetry

 

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Up and Out

go up and look around
for you never know what you may find
in the vast expanse above
where the fresh sweet air intoxicates
and sunlight warms an upturned face,
therefore strain hard to climb above
those rusty seeping pipes of lost hopes
in the dank basement, so rank
with the taste of stale air
draped with cob-web phantoms
regret cement-weighted-feet  to sink
feel the clammy locked-in syndrome
that there is nothing more. Finis. the end.
hurry now, get in the old lift and pull
the caged door shut;
the frayed cables may squeal a bit
scraping through the pulley’s eye as it hoists
you up and up and up; or go find
the dust-blanketed stairwell
and climb the steps one by one;
two flights equal one floor:
twelve may get you winded,
but you must get out, YOU MUST
GET OUT of that cellar of despair–
because once you come up to  
the upper ledge overlooking the city
of ten-thousand dreams, you’ll soon
forget that old dungeon of crumbs
you once created
for yourself.

,

,

Limericist 2007

 
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Posted by on February 9, 2021 in Poetry

 

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