Five tiny stories in poem pockets

..

Nothing bitter. No coffee, no cold
-heart stare, no chairs without
comfort. No root. No soot.

Nothing batter. No waffles. No pan
-cakes, no average. No pitch
black night with softball stars.

Nothing bit her. Not the love bug
or the mosquito moon or the
quiet cold. Nor the sun.

Nothing bets her. No double-down,
no quiet frown poker-faced goon.
No flush. No hush.

Nothing better. Than the way the
sea rushes against the shore; fills
her, stills her soul.

 

..
Prompted by Poetic Asides

 

Advertisements
This entry was posted in poetic asides poems and tagged , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Use your words.

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s