Sweetcakes has been talking about writing a book of poems and not sharing any of them. This one's a quick toss off that I'm relatively certain I'll shred and rework.Still, it shows what thirty minutes before the workday can accomplish. For that, I'll take a win. Happy poem-ing.
Might perhaps maybe if
So there’s no time for a lot of dillying
or dallying, for that matter.
For any matter. We’ve got stars to catalogue
gamma rays, meteorites to dodge,
we’re attending to the birth of universes
up to our elbows in stardust and energy.
In the meantime, there’s dinner, dusting, the stilts
and beams, the day's underpinnings pinning us down.
The gravity of living. There’s laundry.
Questions need their answering.
I’ll tell you, for certain, the swans are a mean bunch
They’ll chase amateurs down, peck and roll them
in a great cacophony of wings, no hesitation.
Better to sweep that wide-eyed wonder to the dustbin
save it for a less livid (vivid) bird.
The Blinking Planet Nebula, the Crescent Nebula,
they’re showing their secrets. The Soap Bubble Nebula, too,
will send out its light, regardless of your timid, untamed eye.
Your fifty dollar telescope. North American Nebula,
Veil Nebula, the Fireworks Galaxy, too, will show you its
At least as far as we know.
Tomorrow, we may know deeper.
Today’s poetry challenge of the day: Write a tentative poem