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Sweet you are in glowing heat,
days or nights of summer, bouncing aloft, clearly winning any battle of color codes meant for pots, day lilies fight as perennials - though never really touching your Olympic standards. You know too well of royalty blaring your sign, wrecking other communities set in May. But for mediation there would be fights aroused by jealousy, as though you know nothing of winning, deeply drinking in statuesque manicures. We'll design a summer for you - and others who gloat over leaving vegetables behind for lower beings, those unearthed, while beads of perspiration from radishes staring - watching as you fly from farmers wanting nothing but honesty. It's a trial to be king, to wear the crown, to laugh in the face of unbearable heat - ovens glowing with embers daring all to stare down in pathetic pamphlets of powdered pedantic potatoes. Sweet you say. We know you mock. We know of better, more pure days that many wish they were you, clever, growing without effort, without sun, moon, stars - or water, you lap, you dare to sparkle as you, to dream of color for kings and queens. Generous I know, but only for this season, as you laugh and grow. © 2013 Larry Ingram
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Click here and see how easy -
yes, but beware of habit, these driven people will take you for all the fortitude available for drinking water there, see the spite in fountains, unkept by public ventures, bankrupt for daring so. You see the night comes quickly here, this path chosen may lead to dry gulches, dry lanes, brazen courage it is to follow one's course, awake at all, these visions dance - but tarry not there - surely you know, to, not. It kept me there for a fortnight, or so it seemed to me as I waxed of days plagued with mud slowing the wheels of carriages, horses struggling with water, paving trails taken - sure - and stay there if you have not sense about you. But beckoning was this new way, this trial before me, too as getting lost behind me was something that could be lost from me for a while, while I tried gaining on, or making a foothold in creating, making forging a path in molten iron. And I say it has been dreamed as it lay before me, a plan not crazy, well considered, and today seemed sensible as well. And why not now, my senses said it was possible, and true and straight as the catamaran takes wind and rides it well. Still I saw the raw fault line, the capsizing capable foolhardyness of the path, if not for sensible creatures who I spoke with at length - or now it seems to be reality that shakes blood, that dares to dream and put pavement, blood and sweat to it - now. So it's considered to be raw and mean, but real all the same - this sail before me, this triumph of wills, that wants wait, but says no, to wait, but do to possible - and it does. And then again it says, watch while it happens, and even so, credits pile for when courage will win again. © 2013 Larry Ingram Now they are lovely,
these roses? No, but be glad they shine now, early this summer, floating, breezily as night comes, resting, white, yellow, hybrid but still pure. A torrid wind, heat evaporation, and nary a soul cares the world as night passes day, takes long pauses as curses fly across to warn of impending doom. Yes they said as much - or at least they dared the brilliance of heroes who paved before - reds, again, petunias chosen for gawking visitors, or none will wake. Fewer still they bob heads, branches flower to crisp grey stalks, wilting slowly with amber, looking for green but finding nothing, they gasp - incapable of frugal times, heading away saying goodbye to genius. © 2013 Larry Ingram Those are fried, those foods.
They know abundantly, clearly they did not read the warning on the octane booster as it sat on top of conforming handles for easily dispensing fuel for late nights, snacks, abundantly nutritious, but for weary souls. It's all good. Well, no. It's there. It shines - brightly it beams neon, though the brand was taken up no doubt at midday, when doughnuts had been plenty, and counting was not done - so to speak. It was I who fed the loss, or the gain? It was beautiful food. With no one to eat it's not really complete, not wasted, but there all the same. Not a loss if I do; but potatoes as those can make for plenty of energy, which is needed by all. I won't leave myself from that line. It is accepting, these sights - for money is all it takes for great gains of insight, of daily intake that knows no bounds - for five minutes, ten, fifteen. Describe your malady that cannot be solved by cards drawn, chosen paid for, then smiling nicely. It was nice to have a nice day. It's no loss when athletes imbibe, when TV is on and consumes calories by the mile, they run track, it takes but minutes to watch, as calories drawn comf0rting, remarkably hungry pictures. There is more, you know that you are always welcome here to make what of it you can. If feeding, eating is not your lot. Perhaps servicing the beautiful sign? © 2013 Larry Ingram I'll come by this eventually,
as snow falls my way - first as crystals, beauty, but later as avalanche of good for me, you say, but not likely knowing - me. It did come, I say, but not as I prepared the venue - the massive advertising budgeted as it was in snowdrifts, scaring visitors, windshields and such, they mistook it for good will. I meant it for pure greed. It's not that they don't work - this skiis, faking lightly, turns prepared, but not as the day, the sun peers out blinding me to lust, to want, to water that barely gets at it - guts. So now it melts. It told me of vast quantities, inscribed for me, tales of tablets like as never before discovered, when skiers were unearthed to reveal preparations for sun, but not blinding speed. Now it scares. Yes, it's there. Still it mows down trees in it's way, trees I planted, as I surveyed my plans for good, for those that shine, that blossom, as beautiful as falling snow, in sparkling moonlit nights. © 2013 Larry Ingram |
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