When you need to get close to each season,
to know which direction our vast Earth spins,
come sit under the apple tree and reason,
pink blossoms now against winter winning.
Life is not much of a competition;
most creatures make the best of and endure.
And then there’s this endless repetition
of flowers come-hither with alarming
allure. Such is the plan it would appear,
since the same thing happens every year.
Chairs off course know search ring a stiff lilly
Cheers off corset nill touch ping a short rally
Chilly fur coarse none such amongst the still
Thesis natch nought loopy stock still hush
Thus ditzy dippy bee causal dingus thrill
Thoughtless remiss trunk full tree bananas
There is rash such art as false tranquility
Of pass age there is nothing prack test
Charts no excerptions pair of phones snail
Espresso café square corner tables
Seats side walked there there now close
Call this way where begins such still life
Naturally there is no such thing as a still life
Docile no stiff necked bowl of animus
Purple plaque plugs these rose drowsy lines
Cowled slugs slow tunes wet needed nibbling speech
Crawls to neck to nip & gnaw ear snack signs
Where moons have placed your pierced panache.
One day we’ll dance this sonnet for Monet
Gather green garden bonnet bright flowers
Moist morning your sweet toes curled sachet
& place feathers in quick fallen embrace.
Breathless word sighs don’t keep us paced spoil
Rhyme misalign pillows cockeyed up side
Down marigolds spill orange & yellow roil
Lemon grass whispers timed noir ride:
Crimson lisps smear across smoke screen gloss
While robed within plush toilet rinse & floss.
Not one but two needs relish sweet sorrow.
Wooden shoe wish new saga song bonnet?
Purple flower here now gone tomorrow.
One knows not lief, and if hair be sonnet,
Wold eat polka dotted cotton culotte.
Back seats escape too simple bounded rules,
Schemes where at smart turn deer quickly departs,
Shirking away from linked coupling rope pulls.
Gears thrown greased ball bearings plop soft thudded,
Rustling rough yon fat fig leaf yellowed grass
Into well palms of gleeful looped poet,
Frogs Voila! in deep wide throated bass:
Now twanged by gee sang plus web danced for thee,
Not two but three may now exclaim in glee.