I’ve been a rake
Forcing fallen leaves into crisp piles
Mounds of gold and rust
Scooped into brown bags and left beside autumn’s curbs.
No amount of diligence
Insures the capitulation of every frond
Some will take flight
In frantic whorls, escaping thus from gravity’s laws.
As an implement of control
My sense of failure knows no limits
In my future guise
I will cling to the oak tree immune to
season’s demands.
A trip through life with fingers crossed and eternal optimism.
Doing the best I can with what I have
kind of sad, but not so bad with cheese. cheese not provided.
My streams of thought meet here
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Life in a flash - a bi-weekly storytelling blog
MARK PETRUSKA | WRITER
Short essays about novels and other fictional works
By Ian Garrabrant
Home of Micropoetry, Literature, art and philosophy.
Just a fiction writer, trying to reach the world.
I'd curtsy but I'm drunk.
Praying for Eyebrowz 
Very fine indeed Leslie. Odd coincidence! I read this during a break from writing about an oak, although what I was writing is but a mere silly tale. This is much, much better and has been tweeted.
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I doubt mine’s better! But what a great coincidence! I wanted it to be a maple tree, but the rhythm didn’t feel right.
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When I post it you will see yours is much better…I promise
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Very very good, with poetry, colours and … a touch of humour 🙂
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Thank you!
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