Very honored to announce that some of my poetry has been selected for publication in HIDDEN IN CHILDHOOD: A POETRY ANTHOLOGY Edited by Gabriela Marie Milton to be released late January 2023!!!
The temperatures have dropped today the Winter air is bitter cold Hibiscus leaves have curled and dried only stalks and roots survive Soon those too will fade away leaving deep buried roots behind
Gardenia blooms a sweet memory tucked inside their stems until Spring Bleeding Hearts and Sunflower discs lay in wait for the warmth of the sun To restore their lovely greenery when Winter’s wrath is done
Wrapped up like Christmas presents my favored Palm Trees stand Bound around with burlap bags protecting their wispy fronds Feeding their roots with supplements keeping them healthy and strong
My Cypress tree is truly bald more naked it could not be Just beside it’s barren form two trees of bright evergreen Underneath their long limbs sprawl a remembrance of past splendor
The mulch is laid and piled around the base of each and every bush Christmas lights will fill the space now barren of blooms and flowers My garden sleeps in frozen ground the silent night’s begin again
I can see you there beneath the hue of reflected leaves and trees water colored silhouettes rippling on the water below me
You with yours in your watery world moving about with fluidic ease under the eddies and gentle swirls of your aquatic universe
I see you you there can you see me here here by the edge standing alone my world edged with sharp planes compact masses of steel for homes
Your world filled with soft grasses golden sand stretches no barriers skimming and swimming in perfect unity you your family your friends No walls to pen you within
Wind blows and the tide shifts the current carries you away to a new and better life a different adventure every day Do you see me standing here – still?
First I had to decipher listicle as in a poem of numbered form Second I found I was rhyming listicle with popsicle and then testi…. Better not.
My third thought turned to wine Something not too expensive to satisfy the palette of an old curmudgeon poet just fine Aged not old.
Fourth I had to review or at least recall the occasions I’d noticed that poet in his finite curmudgeonly grace raise his glass in salute to one and all With a smile.
Fifth I researched diligently that worldwide library Google free to determine what kind and what color to offer a critic most innocently Highest alcohol content.
Perplexed at number six with no end as to when to stop poet-ing a listicle I forgot to buy those red spirits for my old curmudgeon-like friend Merry Christmas Anyway My Curmudgeonly Friend!
The aged fairy looked down at herself. She soothed her torn and yellowing tutu, a spill of tulle loose upon her body. Her raspybreath, greedy for youth, made a soft hiss as it left her thin lips.
She watched another fairy dancing in the moon lit night as she pirouetted on top of the grassy bluff. Her face, her skin, her body bore the flush of youth.
The young fairy would stay safe this night. The old fairy turned away, resisting the dark one yet again.
Gypsie’s Wonderful World of Words 