I write because my time is limited and my imagination is not.
I can make my large form invisible Through stealth, cunning and a touch of magic Which lets me hear your complaints, risible
By D. J. Reddallabout a year ago in Poets
Winter in Quebec Speaks maple syrup French Sweetening the snow ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The struggle to appear to be yourself Carefully curated, polished, refined; Your shame and guilt and strange flaws on the shelf
Juxtapositions Of icy doom and snug warmth Expose two beauties
Your beauty blossoms When the contents of a book Become parts of you
Temptations are ubiquitous and strong A swarm of appetites is every soul To some sort of demon, many belong Tranquil serenity should be our goal
Ominous headlines Warnings of imminent doom Just the new normal?
When I was small, Christmas was magical But mature reflection upon the past Fills me with guilt, for greed fanatical
I watched him write a novel and a play While smoking and drinking a cheap champagne; In another, ostentatious display He tied his shoes while fixing my sink drain
Oh, how I envied The exquisite tenderness With which you played him
Why did you choose me, saucy silk stranger?! Do you have any idea what a creep Just looking makes me? I'm in real danger!
The magpie seems trivial, but is not It is the protagonist of this tale The fence, the snow, the trees were for it, wrought
