speak-y easy. . .

whip some words up
to go with your post-noon
or evening cup,
cafe or tea-sy. . .

So to do,
I tap ten fingers,
and ten toes,
a little cold,
now warm at keys,
and in shoes,
which ground me here,
and let my words
reach far and soon,
and when, all told,
tally up
to half of forty.

Another year
and more,
by now I’ve seen,

and though I’d like to breach
that fearsome, foggy chasm,
I worry that it might be filled
with my each and every
past and future
dread phantasm,

But if I leap,
perhaps I’ll get clear
as clear blue sky
on exactly what
all can mean.

This entry was posted in Medium Length Poems, Poetry and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s