Sunday, No Peace from the Wicked

[Johntee]

Sunday, No Peace from the Wicked


Distasteful but,

that lovesome thing, God wot,

the garden, hides the gorge of flies,

a pidgeon, cat caught, throat torn out,

'twixt peony stem and thorny rose,

of purpose, by bag gathered in

compostable, it's future lies

in recycled food waste

collection.


Then, cursing,

I turn again to replant a Pink,

scraped out to deposit excrement

by someone's "Darling Dear,"

Satan's old familiar.

[RhymeLovingWriter]

Some chores just have to be done...like them or not. At least you could turn the moment(s) into something useful like this poem, with your skills.

[Johntee]

Having seen your example, I've put this piece
back into the original shape it had on my tablet.

[RhymeLovingWriter]

Oooh, I like that!

[BiocideJ]

If you turned the title/first line 90 degrees, it would resemble the shape of a cat. (Satan's familiar. I smiled at that)
I definitely got a chuckle from this -- I suppose at your expense -- thinking one man's trash made by another's "treasure".

[Johntee]

Lined 90 degrees. Cat.
Head down. A tail hanger.
Just that would quite well fit
my Sunday spurt of anger.

[grant hayes]

I relate to this closely. I particularly like 'Satan's old familiar'. Zesta!

[Johntee]

Another example of
humanity throwing
the world out
of balance