Eiji Tunsinagi

*sort of edited*


simple
in the city
my windowsill
bird calls, flowers
red-tipped wings and
yellow daffodils

two stories up
trumpeting romps
over Casio,
they call him

Butterfingers
on those keys -
calling me out
to tell me to
calm down

put your unsocked feet
on those cold tiles

partake
of what morning
has given and

turn that
radio up

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"nothing is perfect, nothing lasts, and nothing is finished."

"how will you go about finding that thing the nature of which is totally unknown to you?"

SteMcGrath

I imagine a cobbled street in Italy. Some good imagery but will benefit from a few tweaks. Enjoyable read. Will be better!

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"He was over at our house struggling with a poem he could not finish, so I took him upstairs and gave him sex. He came down and finished that verse in twenty-five minutes."

Baron

Oops!

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Baron

I don't really get the imagery in this, I see a list of events and no hard and fast subject. There appears to be yourself and another in this poem but the other is simply a reference and needs to be stronger I think. Sorry

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Eiji Tunsinagi

This piece came to me in literally a minute or two. I don't trust work like that. Usually I mull constantly...so I can see how you would not think it works so well. Just experimenting (again). I might revise this; or I might not bother. I don't care for this piece.

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"nothing is perfect, nothing lasts, and nothing is finished."

"how will you go about finding that thing the nature of which is totally unknown to you?"