an on TOMB LIKE.
8 hours ago
Documenting the silence
the bus stop is almost reclaimed by nature
until the bus arrives after a long conversation
with the broken country path
in a meditative rhythm each morning
disgorging the mood
its wheels on cast aside leaves
inbetween the sun barely awake
in the early morning sky
and the sinking moon
recording the moment afterwards
restlessly in symmetries in gentle wind
Tuesday 6th July 2021 6:09 pm
Might someone know what month it is?
Sometimes I can't remember…
I walked outside expecting May;
Instead I got December
Wednesday 21st April 2021 6:19 pm
Ain't they fun?
Thirty damn days since I seen the sun
Sunday 11th April 2021 6:36 pm
Spring fluffs fall like snow
"all is lost; our end is mud"
but wake up a tree
Saturday 10th April 2021 6:16 pm
no wintry night beats
and rattles my windowpane
like Marley's ghost
the freezing gusts, too, are a farce,
so is the unlawful snow
the Spring is just concealed
a bit short of here;
buds begin swelling
though carpeted with ice
© Brian Hodgkinson Jr. (aka) Limericist 2021
Wednesday 7th April 2021 6:12 pm
“De Temps En Temps,” by Josephine Baker. That’s what I was listening to. Funny now to think I'd ever forget how it felt, something like that.
Alone and facing my death in a stranger’s beach house, next to a dark, cold, ocean in the dead of Winter.
I ate Dove chocolates and soaked in a warm bath with bubbles to the brim, and listened to “De Temps en Temps,” while lifting a razor to...
Tuesday 6th April 2021 4:39 am
Winter weeping must now let go
its bitter grip of ice and snow;
frost-bitten trees burst out in leaf,
and soon forget their latest grief.
The sun breaks through to heat the earth,
gives mass-explosion of green birth,
the land throws off its captive's hold,
so earth perfumes can now grow bold.
Let go of all the former things;
a bumblebee twice never stings
and change is sure, as certain...
Tuesday 6th April 2021 3:49 am
feathered fuchsia tree
fuzzy seeds, float freely, fall–
mission: flower tree
Sunday 4th April 2021 12:37 am
a thought came
from a graying November tree,
one of the last to fall,
'look at all my crusts of death,
and answer me.
--bipeds of clay,
do you doubt when
howling winds, ice, and snow
our root to rock,
that Spring will squeeze
out of us
baby buds again?
for each change
the wintertime will become warm,
the dark will lift,
the lawns will need a...
Sunday 21st March 2021 8:38 pm
letter to spring / michael kwack
in a wind
there's a scent of spring
i've passed the winter away
in a far place alone
but only hours of emptiness
and got to write letters now
the last confessions
to me and others
then to meet the spring
in complete quietness
Thursday 25th February 2021 11:05 am
it's right underneath,
brewing under my chest
this quiet whisper circling-
not spiraling downwards as
i often tend to, but in a way a
gentle breeze swirls a handful
of leaves and they flutter away.
there's an inquisitive nature
to it where there is somehow a
sense of magic at hand, and yet
somehow there must be a reason
to it all. a scientific process that
Tuesday 2nd February 2021 9:44 pm