Now, I\'ve taken to posting NONsonnets once in a blue moon. This is another, written in \"class\" for the prompt.
I do not ink the process of orange juice
But revel in the sweetness from it.
Not the lowring racks which spell out doom,
But how rain dances on the puddles lit.
Don\'t dig the garden up for bulbs, to scale
Just HOW they manage to burst forth,
Nor tear the twigs in pieces to detail
How baby leaves at length are newly born.
Or IF I do, it\'s by the EXIT door as twere,
Where petals from Magnolia carpet lawns anew.
Or finger silent husks\' half furry tour
Of what had hoped to be the satin petals\' crew.
Don\'t tell me how you sliced the thing to pieces
Just how you then observed its marv\'lous grace.
I\'ve got enough of nightmares--mine ne\'er ceases.
What I want is to forget its ugly face.
I\'ll write of how its tentacles drag life from me,
But only cuz I\'m buried in the sucking mire.
I clothe it in these metaphors to see
If \"art\" will half accept what ate me up entire.
O LORD, teach me to sing Thy praise,
That I be not ashamed to see Thy face.
06May19