how the over-head branches exite me.
they are not the trees my mother once called fat
nor do they hiss and climb a higher plain.
they just stand up high and flaunt their energy;
if I were a lonely soldier
I would marry them at gun-point
and tell my dear mama
I will be late home for my tea.
how calm they walk
to earth's end and beyond
with legs that grow no bigger
than the measles on my thumb.
but have they hands I wonder?
if I ever dared to touch them
would they die but still remember me?
perhaps they have a mother of their own
or a father lost at sea
all skin and bone!
would they kill me for their supper?
do they hide a million spiders
all looking for a mate to eat alive?
my mother often said sex has it's price.
she was very kind my mother.
her apple-pies to die for!
now I am old
I will have to bake my own;
but I will have to ask my mother first
where the greenest apples grow.
-
Author:
Melvin James (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: July 28th, 2024 07:00
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 17
- Users favorite of this poem: Teddy.15
Offline)
Comments3
Powerful penning
my friend!!
Very evocative!
Love the song you picked,
a captivating poem
from beginning to end! 👍
Best regards ✌️. Thad
thank you Thad once again for a kind comment;
Awe my dear Melvin what a wonderful poem, your last line kudos. Filled with emotion. 🌹
thank you so much Teddy.
a very enjoyable time writing it....bless her.
There is love for your mother in these lines, laden with beautiful imagery. I have an affinity with trees. My mother baked a great apple pie too. Crisp pastry and cloves in the layers of apple. A fine read.Melvin. Most enjoyed.
thank you for your most kind words Cassie.
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