poem
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Hushed explosions and rapid gunfireLeak out from the living roomRap rumbles Upstairsas heavy footed children tumbleA frustrated dishwasher clattersWhile the comforter-laden washer lumbers towards a raucous freedom I walk Along a winding cobblestones of plotsBehind a fortress of verses listening to theVoices chitter in the thicket of my keys In a quiet corner of my
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Bees offer honey far more than stings.Ginger green teaHot and bitingComfort to my raw throatI sip.Warmth pools in my chilled chestMy mug is not as heavy as I feelI’m no bee butI work and serveI hurt and stingI feed and provideI heal to be hurt againIn a tight frenetic circleIn a relentless loop I empty
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New homeThis lifeless sphereMade ours by blood, sweat, willOur children will range across the starsEndless “Today’s writing prompt was to write an American Cinquain, a five line poem with the syllable structure 2-4-6-8-2, on connections. I suck at poems. My mind is walking through my last piece, New Sheriff in Town. This poem written by
circular staircase 