Monday, July 19, 2010

The Picnic
Root beer floats.
Children play
under the
arms of trees.
Hey, check out
that old dandy
in pressed jeans
brings his own
folding picnic tables.
Honey decks
the tables in fine
acrylic ware.
A third fires
the mesquite grill.
Sweet smoke curls
dance in the breeze
drifting by family
and friends.
Whispering wind
tickles toasted ears
with auburn tresses.
Wind whispers,"
I am here."
Find a peace
of the jigsaw puzzle.
Time to eat.
A spot remains empty,


  1. I like this poem. Pretty pictures, too.

  2. The poem is great.
    So in abstract,
    the bittersweet
    hot and fragrant
    a mendicant
    that hot warmth
    on a cold day.
    An old friend
    from childhood
    A brief sojourn
    a fleeting glance
    through the misty time.

  3. LOVED this!

    I was just talking about women writers... and you, my dear, like many I know, don't disappoint.

    I do hope to wideband your work someday..and with any luck, it won't be that far off. ;)

  4. Hey Tom, thanks!

    Just-Rodney, I envy your poetic reply!

    Hi Pamela, me too. :)

    Hi Generique (Ixxy)Media. Thanks!