Tag poetry

Clinging, the kitchen remembers my world in black and white, damn the color.

I refuse to admit I am starved for refuge.

Mom-capped Mom. She's tired, slumped, surrounded by six little ones.

Bees love catnip; they go crazy for it; afterward, we drowsed, full of honeyed sweetness like the bees that browse the catnip, it could be like catnip to us, and I remember the first time my Siamese kitten had catnip,…

In the plaza, he pirouettes, juggling, glittering mysteries.

This did not have to happen. No, none of this had to happen.

Homely, lonely night. Venus shines against vacancy.He doesn’t paint the bars that keep him so far from starry night. Transfixed by stars. The tree grows, it is living. It is hopeful.And so is he. Not always so. Seldomly like that-ever.…

We, the silver birch. Villagers say we are The Three Sisters.

I start to think you stink like Beowulf