Thoughts on an afternoon off: four Haiku.
Atlanta traffic,
It is the stuff of legend.
Motionless people.
Twenty dollars. Cry.
For parking one compact car,
Cities take your dough.
Mellow Mushroom makes
Pizzas, calzones, joy on plates.
A long day ends well.
Driving home again;
Summer sun burns westward eyes.
Lost shades are much missed.
Wake not without the grinding of the bean.
When eyes glazed with sleep find light at first crack,
Go forth, conquer under flag of caffeine.
Coffee, resplendent in fresh-roasted sheen,
Beckons brewing cups sober, strong, and black.
Wake not without the grinding of the bean.
Elixir summoning powers unseen
From burlap bundles ready to unpack.
Go forth, conquer under flag of caffeine.
Many take it straight, flavors hard and clean.
Cream lets some others smoothly knock it back.
Wake not without the grinding of the bean.
Unwelcome are false flavors, tastes obscene.
Sugar-adders will be stricken with plaque.
Go forth, conquer under flag of caffeine.
If each new day’s projects number umpteen,
One beverage stands in for rest you lack.
Wake not without the grinding of the bean.
Go forth, conquer under flag of caffeine.
Spring is in the air,
But not alone up there.
Shorter nights and warmer days
Call forth grass, trees, and yellow haze.
Roses are red, violets are blue,
Oak tassels are green, clinging like glue.
Myriad plants with hearts aflutter
Make love in the wind, stamens clogging the gutter.
The car’s chartreuse, the driveway mustard.
Pollen up your nose makes it run like custard.
Tiny proteins smother me in kisses
Working hard to keep Kleenex in business.
My eyes are red, my brain deep fried,
Without antihistamines, I’d sneeze ’til I died.
Rain alone brings real relief,
But extra mowing causes me grief.
A wet rag over the face promises sleep.
Winter’s over, and spring is a bleep.
It’s been a busy few weeks ’round up in here, mostly due to hosting this. Still, in effort to keep the blog “fresh”, I’m posting a sonnet I wrote about a year and a half ago after studying through 1 & 2 Timothy in Disciple and in our Sunday school class.
But one tale, by a single Author writ
Speaks all, breathes form, life, to the world entire.
Not of man, yet man must comprehend it
To meet Him; saving, purifying fire.
From this fly our peregrine hearts, chasing
Tickles, myths, ashes; vain salve for sin’s throes.
The Tempter’s counterfeits our ears catching,
The self-unbuilding Gospel to depose.
Forged yarns weave ruin, despair. Lust negates love,
Avarice throttles hope, debts crushing joy.
But darkness must retreat. Light, as a dove
Descends, cuts straight, truth itself to deploy.
God’s own Word, own Son, come with us to dwell.
His blood opens Heaven, dooms lies to Hell.
Hardscrabble 