An arabesque tapestry,
Buttercups and Shepard's Purse
co-mingle below park trees.

Destiny is brutal for a weed.

Elephant roots overpower the path
filled with the final petals of an early spring.
Gone are the purples and pinks, 
headless daffodils remain,  bald and shivering.

Is it this way of things? 

Jungle gyms to outlive us all.
Kiddies on squeaky swings,
lemon sun yearly squeezed, which
marks the flesh before it's wrung.

Names and faces bleached clean
on dusty fields where battered gloves
position for the fly ball that never comes.

Quiet as the last inning when the
ref signals fair ball.

Shade, our true salvation, when all is done.

Tough to uproot the Deadnettles
under the gleaming metal bleachers
vacationing in partial-sun.

When will we embrace their wisdom? 

Xenial green fields seem endless.
Yards of pastures unused
zig-zagging us towards disuse. 

©2023 | K. Hartless

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GloPoWriMo#19 Today, I’d like to challenge you to write an abecedarian poem – a poem in which the word choice follows the words/order of the alphabet. You could write a very strict abecedarian poem, in which there are twenty-six words in alphabetical order, or you could write one in which each line begins with a word that follows the order of the alphabet.

Ha! Today, you didn’t win. I finished this poem, even if I’m not quite sure what it means. Maybe this new music video by Paris Paloma will help.