We live much of life amid unique choices. Joy is anchored in The One beyond our life. |
Verbal sparring 'tween the clouds, the word boasts flooding down. Curtain wetness, grassy shrouds, the drops that the windows crown. The bout, now called, the ref has tied. The chiming of the leaves, with drizzling rain, and eyes unpried, a nap of drooling sleeves. The words on the page from a caulking tube stuck find their mark from great effort, not bliss. Seems we poem today by the weight of a truck. Not much pucker remains left to kiss. On this rainy day slow the writer's asleep. Nonsensical thoughts wander 'round, 'til all that be left is the snoring one's peep on the couch where the dreams still abound. by Jay O’Toole on June 4th, 2025 ![]() |