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Colliding Scopes

 
stars
 
beyond this Am

of written page

is wild élan
 
 

–and though pens plan

that heart persuades.

beyond this Am
 
 
of Marching Band

& Fretting Stage

is wild élan
 
 
–and such demands

no mortal gauge

beyond this Am
 
 
is Rock, not sand

is Life uncaged!

is wild élan
 
 
–and Siren’s chant

–and songs of Age

beyond this Am

is wild élan.

©Karen Robiscoe

Over-do

 
 

If words would move you–

if dreams could be…

For you, I’d write a library.

 
 

With columns true

–and filigree

If words would move you–

 
 

I’d build you two

I’d scribble three!

For you, I’d write a library.

 
 

Then browsing through

you’d surely see,

If words would move you–

 
 

Each book imbued

with coeur d’esprit…

For you, I’d write a library.

 
 

Let Muse renew

a history…

If words would move you–

for you, I’d write a library.

©K. Robiscoe

Karen Robiscoe dba CHARRONs CHATTER

 
 

Growth

 
 
deserted eyes at night

forget most lamps

synthesizing light
 
 
using inner sight

innate to man

deserted eyes at night
 
 
know twilight

as Nature can

synthesizing light
 
 
in dichotomous rite

divergent from plants

deserted eyes at night
 
 
face flux with might

deride it with cant

deserted eyes at night

synthesizing light.
Karen Robiscoe dba CHARRONs CHATTER

©Karen Robiscoe

Related Posts: Nature’s Secret at Teacher as Transformer

Ring-less Poesie

 
 

no preset room

with whitewashed glass

for poesie blooms

 

from Dante’s doom

and checkered past

no preset room

 

but petals strewn

atop morass

for poesie blooms

 

amid lampoons

of versing class

no preset room

 

her arching plume

a looking glass

for poesie blooms

 

resisting prune

of leaf till last

no preset room

for poesie blooms.

©Karen Robiscoe

 
Karen Robiscoe at CHARRON's CHATTER
 

No “villian” Elle

 
 

Daggers wound when thrown

—and while I’ve felt them often,

blood seeds are best unsown…

 

by Haggard I, when hope is flown—

tilt yet the urgent coffin,

daggers wound when thrown…

 

in Staggered flight! Through plotted stone

—walls, though mine had softened,

blood seeds are best unsown…

 

then Swagger must its bluff disown

in heart, and without caution,

daggers wound when thrown…

 

a Blackguard—aye! Toward light I’ve grown

—hard growth—but worth exhaustion,

blood seeds are best unsown…

 

no Plague need blight my harvest glow

—No bane benight my autumn…

Daggers wound when thrown,

blood seeds are best unsown.

arrow

©Karen Robiscoe

 
 

Brian’s Song

 
 

He calls me Mom

my greying, baby son

I’ll miss him when he’s gone

 
 

Last week strong

Next near done

He calls me Mom

 
 

He fought life-long

each day hard won

I’ll miss him when he’s gone

 
 

our Brian Song

our ken of none

He calls me Mom

 
 

At last all wrong

in form undone

I’ll miss him when he’s gone

 
 

‘Til next life dawns

‘Til then, my son!

He calls me Mom

I’ll miss him when he’s gone.

love
©Karen Robiscoe

 

Dedicated to my dear friend suffering both cerebral palsy and AML leukemia. As some of you know I chef part-time, although pretty much none of you know I also care for a person with cerebral palsy. We’ve had some terrible news of late. Just terrible. I couldn’t be more shook up about it, so any consideration is especially appreciated at this hard, hard time.