Falling leaves, gray sky, overcast,
Bombast, no that’s not right, it rhymes, but why?
Capture images and metaphors for images of words that images draw,
Outward typing, inward grasping, gasping at straws, and tooth, that claw,
I pull words out of my brain, like carrots from a garden, rooted deep, and
not ready for the thaw.
Lovely bairns and buckets plenty, of tears and dreams, and when
we gather things together, almost family time, again this rhymes, but then
I think of what else could go here. What is here? What have we, I call it, a ball that
drops like bass in a club, or it’s dubbed in post, but this is stream of thought,
that streamlined business class action of aether and words that come together,
to foment what I’ve been taught, to grasp the perspicacity and of that veracity I find
that I can’t focus on what’s ahead, only what’s behind, and no one there to catch it when it falls.
Whirring thoughts of glitter spackle, sparkle, crackle, beaming out to above and beyond,
like a radio signal caught in a tempest, heard and mentioned to those abroad.
Amaris
11/4/17
(This poem was a stream of consciousness poem, and is thus unedited, and presented exactly as it arrived.)