The Signal

My beautiful picture

Through snow flurries did they besiege the pang,

Though some crystals varied combined to gang,

This bull, his maw, both on the road they sang,

Blue odes, dreaming hobos, flakes to harangue,

Tunnels sheltered for half moments in route,

Past trees of he born in Goochland about,

Bridges over water toxic, closed spout,

Steep grades leaving sharp turns and steers in doubt.

Here now arrived serving to right the wrong,

Snow’s drift not fit to push cardinals along,

Crossroads highball given, golden the song,

Now gone, now passed do we hear the bell’s dong,

Flat roads stretching further ahead they go,

No more twists or turns that blight what we sow.

© 2016

Advertisements

Flapjacks

My beautiful picture

Poured into skillet,

The bubbling batter beckons,

Flip of spatula.

© 2016

Confederate

My beautiful picture

Driving down the road,

A truck flies a spectral flag,

Haunting the city.

© 2016

While Waiting for the Movie to Start

My beautiful picture

Painted red and white,

Stone’s throw from ticket window,

Lo, moviegoers.

© 2016