Poetry Group, Me and My Friends

                                                 

                                                 Poetry Fans

 

We’re of a certain age,

when time grows hot, then cold.

Where discretion tints experience

and wisdom could unfold.

 

We seek the worded breeze,

 accounts that move the air.

From windy musings we conjure dreams

and share them if we dare.

 

We seek the weft and warp,

designs, the patterns clashing.

We plumb the mysteries of life and

                                                fantasize while flashing

Garden Editing

 

Garden Editing

 

You place yourself in beauty

but your essence holds no charm.

You have no scent to tease my nose,

no bloom or fruit to please.

You, plant without guile,

are a weed.