The Small Blue Boat
Her possessions robbed
The small blue boat bobbed In the bouncing sea. Tethered to the dock Secured by a lock. When the wild winds blow No place can she go. While rising water Climbs o’er her gunwale Apt to fill her hull. Her jostling about Has left not a doubt Soon to the bottom She’s going to sit Having no spirit. Nothing to live for Won’t fight anymore. So sad, slowly she Sinks to her demise. There’ll be no goodbyes.
Most perfect of its kind on the table.
Beauty of such proportions do I mull.
To resist a bite not sure I’m able.
In my rapid heartbeat there is not lull.
Do I dare to hold it softly in hands?
To move it towards my hungering lips?
For such a sweet delight there were no plans,
Reality of this must come to grips.
All control have I admittedly lost,
Knowing my thoughts are surely to anger.
Must consume this beauty at any cost,
Burning desire can no longer deter.
Yes, the sweet flawless apple I did eat,
There will be penance for this tasteful treat.
The Mystery of a Summer Night, Edvard Munch (1892) The Mystery of a Summer Night
In the sense of time it wasn’t long ago
That I stood tall casting billowing shade
A place where some would rest to see the sea
But like tired humans I began to fail
At a point in time my leaves became less
The winter winds tortured my sagging arms
Causing a never ending strain and pain
Finally there’s no golden leaves to fall
Still standing the wind continued its war
Little by little tore away my skin
Naked I’m a violin to the wind
Creating soft sounds as the she flies through
Then came the horror of menacing roar
With its hungry teeth the saw cut me down
What remains is a comfortable seat
For visitors to watch the setting sun
But willingly I have left so much more
Having sent my roots in all directions
Traveling far they are my legacy
Holding the soil together with arms
Impressionism, Popcorn by the author Allegory of Pop Corn, Robert A Sieczkiewicz
All the kernels were guaranteed I’m told
Not a reject to be found in the bunch
Everyone surely to be big and bold
Hurriedly took them home to try at lunch
Into the large skillet placed them so neat
Moved them around so each had its own space
All comfortable I turned up the heat
Will there be a winner in this big race
Was not long before there was sound of steam
Soon were popping like the sound of a gun
Moment of quiet then a final scream
Shut off the heat, thinking they will be done
The puffy ones I quickly threw them out
They are not the type I am looking for
None left in the skillet, was quite a rout
I will not go to the place as before
This entry was posted in
Art, Finding Beauty, Poetry and tagged Allegory, Art, Blog, Blogging, Food, Images, Life, Poem, Poems, Pop Corn on . February 28, 2018