(based on suggestions from - deep breath - @sulphura, @MJPhotographer, @skippy_2, @jellyjellyfish, @GretasTARDIS, @tiggyjohnson and @xutraa)
A never-played symphony of hot days
skipped over summer this year. Left the
paddling pool withered in the shed,
dashed over in tights and boots.
We bake safely under the waves to dry
our flooded heads. Churn out secret biscuits,
hidden pancakes and congenial puffed muffins
under the watchful pearl eye of the
whiskey bottle. Coiled in an empty glass
is the most perfect green snake.
Jobs waver and glow like kelp underwater
swirling ocean night lights in the mind.
I’ll run away to work in
Workers there don’t fleece the welcome mat don’t
roll cocks back and forth like cigars don’t
pretend that sort of dried shit is merchandise
to feed a universal pet hate.
I’ve written it out loud - I’m not a sheep; I can’t.
Can’t do this/clean up/smile/earn/go
back for one more day. Sorry again.
But tiny riders saddle up, short horses sing back.
Wolves of our minds howl out
hungry for their silly bag of meat,
rake miniature famine down our backs
and plead for mercy. Where is our summer?
Will we forgive us ourselves?
Who will take the next order?
Today's poem is based on requests from seven peeps (SEVEN!):
- @sulphura: "How about an Ode to the Summer that Never Was?"
- @MJPhotographer: "sheep....(joking) how about swirling night lights" (I put the sheep in too)
- @skippy_2: "The pearl eye of the most perfect green snake."
- @jellyjellyfish: "Guilt. Redemption. Tiny horses"
- @tiggyjohnson: "muffins!"
- @GretasTARDIS: "pancakes!
- @xutraa: "Whiskey, welcome mats and BULL PEN…s" (I believe this is the first bull penis I've put into a poem)