Sunday, June 14, 2015, Morning With Light, Water, and Words

The house goes from the dark glow of the street

lights as they look inside like timed security guards

to a brighter, cleaner hand of light

as it scrubs away the night.

 I drink morning water and wait to read

the words of the sons and the daughters of

earth. I wait at the stream of thought waiting

for the fish and meat of thought and soul to

bite on the hook of crooked fingers as

they make a line in the river of words

flowing on to a pixilated shore as

the poet as fisherman hooks any old

fishy thought that goes to the trouble to


Explanation: If you have to explain a joke, it’s probably not funny. That’s not true with poems. They are true word play and sometimes rather fun. Thus, I present this here one. It has 10 syllables per line, and 14 lines. Thanks for reading. I kind of dig poetry. Any comments welcome. 


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