May Flowers/Round One

April showers bring May flowers. As I age I find myself identifying more and more with nature in ways I hadn’t imagined before.

There are some lovely white ladies in our front yard that seemed to have shared the same kind of week as me.

 

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Monday smiles!
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Tuesday laying low
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Wednesday hump might win the fight
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Thursday in bits and pieces
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Friday, exposed, soul laid bare..

Excuse me while I crawl into the weekend….but I’ll be back.

A good night’s sleep and my soul will be reborn..

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Deep within beauty remains
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She will shine again!

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Crooked/Poetry

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There was a crooked man

who walked a crooked mile

to wag a crooked finger

at the moon’s crooked smile.

 

“Don’t laugh at me,”

he warned,

dejected and forlorn,

feeling quite abused,

angry and confused.

 

“So you’ve come to

me at last,

like a ghost from

out the past.

Is it recompense you seek,

if so why don’t you speak?”

 

(her crooked smile did not waver)

 

 

The crooked little man

took a crooked step

along the crooked walk,

he took a ragged breath

and then began to talk.

 

“You made me what I am,

you wicked, lusty dame.

Wandering this lonely path

until my legs are lame.

For what you promised,

yes you know

beneath that sultry

silver glow,

that love was true and

free for taking.

Thus I have spent a lifetime

making

love, and hope

and wicked ties

only to find it

all was lies.

I believed but

was deceived

you careless liar,

fueling fire

to burn men’s souls.”

 

 

Her majesty just grinned,

“My dear tho you have sinned,

’twas through no fault of mine,

nor the starlit night divine.

Each gem that fell into your hands

was swallowed by the shifting sands

of your deceit,

pressed into dust

from hungry lust

and blown away

at end of play.

Angels all, and at your call

You bruised and used and left them all!”

 

The crooked little man

dropped his head into his hands

and weeping bitter tears,

bemoaned the wasted years;

but she who knows not guilt or shame

felt no remorse for placing blame

upon the head

of he who shed

the tears that bled

his soul away.

(her crooked smile was wistful)

 

“Go back into the mists

and shake your crooked fists

at he who lives within the glass

and looks at you from out the past.

As dust to dust

return you must,

and thus reborn

you shall be sworn

to retribution,

love’s solution

lies in the hands of

he who understands

the turning of the tides

and that no one can hide

from she who holds the key

to bright eternity!

 

Cheryl KP 2018

Copyright Photo and words