Post a poem about two geese

[billy]

hey guys; thanks for the stuff posted so far. for the next week can you post a poem or two about dust motes.

[Keith]

Just as the minnow misses the grazing
mouth of a whale.
We turn off motorways,
to drift through heated streets,
settled over foam covered springs.

Displaced air escapes through pockets
of excited-mites that cling to particles
like spiderling balloonists
fly-fishing on thermal winds.

We all glint in each others sunlight,
forgotten in the moment of our brightest flight.

[dukealien]

Motes of Dust


They neither float nor fly, they sail
weightlessly, synchronously
with their pollen neighbors,
each complex as a snowflake
but evolving, more unique
because not grown, collected
with utter asymmetry.

Lost hairs, found,
step dust mote masts
not merely raked as on a clipper ship
but optimally strung
in all directions, to each azimuth.

Ballet-balanced, waving,
room-air currents blast them on,
relentless as a gale,
yet so near to nothing
even sunlight forces them to run,
grizzled ancients drawn along
by golden fairy fingers
tangled laughing in their beards.

[nozaki]

kept within the stars,
the collarbone, these are the
gods of yesterday

[Tiger the Lion]

Dust Mote

For a moment
the sun made a world of her,

and I alone have escaped to tell you.

[billy]

Dust Motes

Sunlight makes them dance
and swirl, the draft from door
creates a whirl of wind
that wafts them higher.
In miniature; a funeral pyre
of microscopic particles
death from slow decaying men.

[Quixilated]

Today I am a Sun Sprite.  
I float cheerily among the motes,
a microbubble of merriment.
I sprinkle sleepy sunbeam magic
on one cozy purring cat,
an over-zealous geranium,
and a lazy-morning bookworm.
Then a breeze, and I am gone.

[billy]

hey guys; thanks for the stuff posted so far. for the next week can you post a poem or two about [Pins]

[Xlateralus]

On Desiring The Recreation Of The Freedom Of A Shotgun - 1994

Pins and needles scatter light
from crevices of sunshine crawling
through brown shades of dust.

How many times can thirty
days be cast aside - secrets in a dresser
collected - regrets in a cigar box
unkept?

Pins and needles wage a fight
over the love for self destruction
against the righteousness of life.

[cloud]

pin in the clouds

a pin's shadow stretches far out in the open
across barren fields which no man dare venture
blinding burning love; gone in an instant
those fading rays of light clung to the nearest person
cast by one good small spirit bathing old land in clear darkness

[billy]

post a poem about an animal or group of animals.

[Ally]

. . . . . .

[Tiger the Lion]

Horses

All I have left
of five-years-old
is the smell of soggy cereal
and Yosemite Sam;

molasses Saturdays 
with Spaghetti Westerns
and the sound of horses.

[Tiger the Lion]

BFF

a full turkey dinner
on a Tuesday morning
and he never suspected a thing

I watch him sleep
for the second-last time

[dukealien]

Stockholm Cockroach


Spent some time last night
with a cockroach in the bathroom,
didn’t have a shoe to crush it
or a hammer (was a big one,
brown and glossy, looking poisoned
one antenna loose and shorter).

It just circled, that lamed feeler
failing to keep contact,
crawled disjointedly, self-cornered
but deterring me for fear
he’d run right up my naked leg.

He’d react to any blow
of my puffing air, not weapon–
sometimes cringing back in terror,
others limping hopelessly
toward his distant, mountainous
tormenter with the galling breath.

In the end I rose, relieved,
and rather than seek shoe or hammer
hazed him out into a hallway
then beneath a closet door
which I left unopened, oddly
grateful he’d escaped alive.

[busker]

BFF

a full turkey dinner
on a Tuesday morning
and he never suspected a thing

I watch him sleep
for the second-last time

[busker]

Snail on the hibiscus bush that I pick,
you’ve struggled all day through thin and thick
tufts of grass to get to this, condemned man’s meal,
not a slice of pecan pie, bucket of fried chicken,
moon pies and cigarettes, the senses to quicken
momentarily, but a solitary leaf,
to which you hastened snail speed in 1D,
a modest repast, like Ted Bundy,
like the gods I can throw you under the bus,
though you implore me not to kill
you in your strange snail ways,
by lying perfectly still -
but I will.

[Ally]

[Hi Billy; are we still on animals? I've something else I could post, unless you'd like to change the subject? Hope you're well! Ally :-)]

[dukealien]

[Hi Billy; are we still on animals? I've something else I could post, unless you'd like to change the subject? Hope you're well! Ally :-)]

I don't think we're limited to one - it's sort of a rhetorical "a," know what I mean

[Ally]

. . . . . .