Life has become
an unusual flower
no longer remembering
the poise of lavender
kindness of mock orange
grace of calla lillies…
Life is confused
its petals an unsettling elixir
emitting rancid words
tossed like a young boy’s
frisbee, thoughts flung
like stale breadpieces
to morning pigeons
It walks among us
visiting our inadequacies
stirring our restlessness
awaking us in our sleep
chirping like predawn birds
having much to say without interpretation
Yes poetry is a houseguest
It scuttles along collecting smells
like crackling bacon in cast iron skillets,
taking in poignant sniffs of calla lily
stems that attack you walking by
it evokes our presence timely
or not who can say
sharing our tears
our fears
our fantasies
recording our days
our memories
with finely handled nibs
etching calligraphic splendor.
— Let Poetry Be Your Houseguest…
Glendal Wallace --Poet 