Poetry and Laundry
with pen in hand, the cycles all on start,
I cannot rinse the muse though I do try,
I can’t use Oxi-clean inside my heart.
For soap I use the thoughts inside my mind,
the washer fills to its capacity;
I go from hot to cold, sometimes I find
that nothing shrinks with creativity,
Just when the second rinse has drained and spun,
and softener has touched each fibered rhyme,
I’m glad the darker colours have not run,
no bleach is needed for the whites this time!
Each article is fresh as morning air;
my poetry, my laundry, wash and wear.
I learned to fish this river with a worm,
my granddad taught me how to bait and cast;
a lesson all abandoned boys must learn,
without a fish, a hungry soul will fast!
He used to tell me, “Miracles are free,
throw out your line and hang on every bite,
just rest upon this shore so patiently,
until your miracle grabs on so tight.”
I used to be a troubled, broken kid,
I learned to cast out pain and just be rid,
of all resentments with one hopeful sigh.
a ray of hope was hooked; a rainbow trout!
It’s Not Easy Being Green
I used to be consumed by selfishness,
a spiteful man so reckless, harsh, and mean;
I would proceed to make your life a mess,
my favourite colours: lime and hunter green.
It wasn’t long before I was alone,
I scared so many people from my side;
an iron will, a conscience dead as stone,
with no regard, and that was cut and dried.
It wasn’t ’til someone caused me some pain,
a little taste of what I had dished out;
I knew my selfish life was lived in vain,
today my way is not what life’s about.
I never knew such joy and peace of mind,
but now I do, my envy left behind.
Bryon D. Howell is a poet currently residing in New Haven, Connecticut. He has been writing poetry for a great numbers of years, but is on and off when it comes to actively seeking publication for his work. Over the years, Mr. Howell’s poetry has appeared in Autumn Leaves and poeticdiversity.