i had a dream i 
wrote a sonnet
a fine piece of 


with lots of
stupendous phrases 
and careful 
that sculpted 
the contours of 
the vowels like a 
designer dress over 
a pair of 
thorny-eyed heels
that punked all
the literary critics 
at our nation’s


including even
the most 
professors of 
with sounds like 
silver moons and 
the whispers of 
sea fairies, tinkerbells of 
positivity and utopias 
that fell like 
flowing scarves and
little hangmen
from the accent over 
the final

then i woke up 
humming like a 
nightbird and
in my sleeping bag
all the trees had 
turned to scarecrows and 
my pretty flowers were
crusting at the roots, two
snails out of sleep,
rumpled feathers, and 
clouds like 
dented drums

i’m no good at
making messes i
can’t clean up
mothers hugging 
their babies and 
lots of boys
kissing girls on the
ivories of the necks
true love and destiny
hearts drug around
by the shoelaces and
so and so
said they’ll 
all be 
stars one day
someone told me 
i can see their 
eyes by the 


must be something 
about my 

4 thoughts on “Scarecrow

    1. Thank you very much! I sometimes feel I am getting to know myself in a different way through writing poetry, as well. I appreciate that, even though you are not an experienced poetry reader, you take the time to read mine…and that they resonate. That makes me feel good. 🙂

      Liked by 1 person

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