Latest Micropoetry on Twitter - July 2-24

Junebugs
flutter and buzz
zapping themselves
against
the floodlight

silhouettes
of nearby trees
their branches
an endless
reaching

nature embraces coolness
after a swift rain
wet earth transforms smells
a soiled sensation in my nose
gentle wind tickles my skin

raggy
tall grass
epitomizes
upside down
bird feet

a rainbow left
its full spectrum
comet tail
dashing
between clouds

three quarter moon
is either shaped
from too much food
or is one quarter
pregnant

black sky
flashed
and busted its veins
summer monsoon
is coming

I wink
at the moon
and the moon
winks
at me back

the bullied moon
wears
a
swollen
black
eye

short petalled
yellow mums
jiggle under
the air-conditioner
they need full sunlight

scorching sun
fresh cut grass needs water
yellow mums need planting
I stay inside
it's too hot

newly planted
yellow mums
agree
with its new
planter home

on the side
of my shed
are purple flowers
too bad
they're on tall weeds

the weeds
are having a hey day
in my back yard
the grackles
don't mind

poor yellow mums
planted last week
choking heat
withered
them all

frail baby willow
half bare
the wind
blew away
part of its virtue

chubby sparrow
is playing
jungle bird
through
my tall grass

roasting sun
dries the grass
faster
than I
can water

More New Gogyohka Poems (5 Lines, Micropoetry)

tangerine sun
licks
the lemony haze
harboring
nightfall


eggshell moon
radiates
its aura
between
the leaves


the aged
oval moon
rests its
drowsy head
on a licorice pillow


shameless
street lights
spread their halos
against
the onyx sky


cut back
oleanders
are flourishing
with fresh
new leaves


Mexican
Bird of Paradise
raises its
red and yellow flowers
to the scorching sun


slicky, oily grackle
lands clumsy
on the
rustic red
picket fence


the ashen sky
buttons up
the sleeping moon
and slips it
onto a dark sheet


backyard angel
lifts her head upward
more than before
she is happy
for my return


red-tinged
yellow moon
suffers
from high
blood pressure


a tanned
saxophonist
plays for tips
on the
tiled sidewalk


a stunning white horse
with snow white neck
ice-blue face
wears a
red and black harness


camera lens
on fuchsia flowers
the wind
sways them
out of focus


the wind
delivers
a child's
pencil drawing
of a butterfly


silver dollar
moon
tilts
its head
on periwinkle sky


gnats fly crazy
around my head
along a path
surrounded by
healthy grass


an excited
robin runs
across the black top
with a wiggly worm
in its beak


giant
clay pots
overflow with
red, yellow and purple
flowers


this morning
orange sun
smiles
on the
horizon


Last night
a soft banana
and cantaloupe haze
veiled
a marschino
setting sun


daisy white
Mexican Elder
flower clumps
danced
in the wild wind


an energetic storm
flashed
ivory veins
and arteries
across blackness


at last
a loud crackling boom
raindrops tinkle on my roof
followed by
the great deluge


a margarine
crescent moon
submerges
into its tar black
horizon


cloud's edges
fall
like
threads
in shreds


northern
gray
clouds
are
grumbling


humid staleness
smothers
warmth
against
the wind


it is time
to call
the rain dancers
and New Mexican
Kokopelli flute players


clouds
shaped as
Mozart's profile
floats
by


a thunderous sky
jolts and stabs
the earth
with a big
white dagger  

Wishing for Rain

I want to be a turquoise bird
with a sandy beak and sandy legs,
coral rings around blue eyes,
salmon bands across the feathers,
white throat and white chest,
sitting like a sculpture on my
weathered, rustic picket fence,
to feel the wind blow black clouds
southward, to wait like an icon
wishing for the coolness of rain.

Instead I lay down on the couch
and fall asleep like a tired ol' bear
who just ravaged for dinner,
feeling fat as a fully fed female
on a fearless Friday night,
with nothing else to do except
drag her feet around the cave
after waking from a two hour nap.

Desert Song

The desert knows no silence;
wind whispers a million legends.
It hears the wails and happiness
of those in the wild, breathing in
the same air, same spaces.
All meet the sky, moon,
rolling hills. Paws leave
impressions in fine soil,
at times scorching from sun,
cooling after rain and cloud cover.

Nature knows no boundaries except
where rain chooses to fall,
forming puddles so plants,
insects, and animals can drink
from the land. So that minerals
sleeping deep in the earth
can grow crystalline structures.
So that cactus leaves can maintain storage
for use during droughts. So life
can see the desert's succulence.
Sand dunes roll into a majestic mountain,
sitting stronger than a fortress,
slowly shifting over hundreds of years.

Every step or crawl on dirt
creates a sound, as wind whips
into a howl, as rain drizzles or pelts,
as a warming touch from the sun's light
kisses shade. Every bark and roar
from friend or foe, every flapping whir
from bee or hummingbird, even
a quiet landing of moth or butterfly –
a desert will never be silent,
though it seems so from a distance.

Drifting Through A Fog

(On suffering writer's block)

A fog drifts through the gaps of my mind,
haze as a mist hangs between hills and valleys--
low floating clouds on a humid day.

Thoughts harbor in silence, suspend,
then chatter away about nothing,
about everything at once.

Cranial grayness filters the light, hides the crannies,
glides through a part of me that reflects
how my brain got stuck, dangled in midair.

I sit here dazed with nothing to write,
wondering where the next word comes from.
Must I cull utterance from my next-door
neighbor's cigarette smoke? So be it.

I'd rather grasp them from coolness
of my living room air conditioner. Maybe
that will blow away and free me from congestion.

Clouds

Evening's cool breeze breaks
today's heat, penetrates holes
in my shirt to cool sweat
on my stomach, tickles
my neighbor's clanging wind chime.
A breeze that ruffles tree limbs,
sways a little girl's long blonde hair
and white dress as she walks
barefoot carrying her doll
through puddles. A breeze that rolls
heavy clouds toward Old Mesilla.

Clouds fracture, reveal bluish
dusk. Large white spider veins
and lightning bolts flash and split
the southern sky. A gush of rain
pours like a giant hour glass filled
with white dust. Traces of pink paint
the western side. Clouds with charcoal
and sepia undersides meet the setting sun
that highlights light ashy edges.
Swirling clouds form a mastodon
chasing a spinning poodle, collides,
dissolves as one dark mass.

Yippee for the Rain Man

© 2008 Photo and poem by Sue Miller (artist unknown)

Or is he the yippee-yi-yay man
jumping for rain in a cloud shirt,
on a cloudy day man
in striped pants.
A blissful man,
a cone head man,
almond shaped eye
with a beehive pupil,
a Cyclops eye man
full of spirit-can-you-feel-it man.
His jumping "J" boots are jammin' man.
Star of the watermelon pink wall.

Now he's online as the yippee man.