Wednesday, April 04, 2007

View from the Terrace

I tire myself over a book
Stocking insights for future verses
Otherwise limited to the color and smell
Of spaced out neighborhood
Devoid of will and yet full
Of natural excesses:
In the vicinity of pots
Creeping vines unnamed and unbecoming
Are as wanton as their dreams.
Indecisive bougainvilleas searching for a trellis
Hanging on to wash lines,
No wind touches a petal of their pink profusion.
Each stem of neighbor fortune plant
Struggles to be free from juvenile entanglements
Of surreptitious vines clinging to posts
Blackened with secure grime.
Every will of greatness have been tampered.
Pools of mud from overflowing canals
In humid April have dulled visions
Immuned them even to the noise
Of children's nonsense
That can break through
This weary plainness.
copyright (c) Jophen Baui April 4, 2007

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