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KENNETH N COOK

SONGSOPTOK THE WRITERS BLOG | 5/15/2015 |




GARDEN OF DREAMS
The sky weeps
giant drops
of oily gray
over rotted,
slimy vegetables
poking wilted heads
through black,
greasy earth.
A thousand flies
fill the thick,
steamy air
with a discordant,
pulsing hum
while budding
trees wretch
and green
bushes vomit.
My garden
is toxic
with anger
and poisonous
from pain,
as dead dreams
float through
indifferent skies;
the verdant
spring plants
singing a
silent dirge,
as they circle
the stench-filled
graveyard
that was once
my garden.

MIDNIGHT IN SPRING
We walk silently
as two cats
through a field
at midnight.
For the moon
is sleeping
in a fairy-ring
of mist,
while the stars
wink down
in silence.
We embrace
beneath an old
twisted oak;
its gray branches
pushing out
pellets of green
leaf-buds,
while we join
in nature's
verdant song
like nightingales,
as the cool
spring evening
wraps us up
in ribbons
of black velvet.

ON THE ROPE
(A Metaphor)
Watch closely now
as I plant trembling legs
one in front of the other
out slowly onto
the wobbling rope.
Let your eyes pop
and your lips
form silent words
while the nervous laughter
leaks through to
my pulsing ears.
Watch closely now
as I attempt
to walk upon
white-knuckled hands
while the laughter
morphs to rusty chortles
and eyes of fire
begin to pierce
my throbbing skull.
For holding each end
of the frayed rope
squats a squinty-eyed,
drooling creature,
poking my chest
and jabbing my head
with silent, shared words:
Should we do it?
Let's shake the rope!”
[KENNETH N COOK]




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