Poems given to me while spillin' tea on my keyboard, often get dropped here for the benefit of humanity and my own hubris.
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Ah, the dicotomy that is Spring. The sweet smell of flowers and the pungent smell of mulch all in the same breath. While coming home, I noticed a sight that seemed to capture these feelings…
Heavy plum blossoms
Furry pink finger pointing
Furry roadkill
© 2005, Howard Abrams • Except where otherwise noted, all original content is licensed under a Creative Commons License (see details).
Why don’t I write more poems? I realize that I can only write if I’m beaten over the head with it. If I have to work for it, it gets lost in the day-to-day struggle of wiping noses and fixing snacks for screaming mouths.
Comment posted on Thursday, 10 March 2005
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