Tuesday, June 26, 2012

Hot air

The poems as wild grass -
they never ask
about proper time to grow,
they come at dawn or in dusk,
or in midday for show.

They're dropping down from the void,
distract the schedule, the routine,
don't even try to run, avoid -
all meetings are ruined.

They're hanging on the door as chimes
and teasing from behind,
there's no escape from crazy rhymes
and overwhelmed mind...

With inspirational delight
I rise aloft to thermostat,
and see desired point line
has crawled to 'very hot'...


  1. smiles...you must be enjoying the heat wave we have as well...over 100 for 8 or 9 straight days....at least we have power back now...its a little cooler...smiles.

  2. Hi Brian...heat is kind of summer prerogative, something we're not able to change, so better use it for ...inspiration :) thanks for visiting!