Archive for August 2020

31.August.20

Where do those enduring longanimity find their strength as they trudge through muddiness?

From that watered soil emerge bulbs’ blooms, wearing rose-coloured petals of view.

Surviving on gorp costs less than steak. Even pulvillio fancies presence of floral essence. Pain’s yang plus time turns into win’s yin.

Alas, for every ambuscado that brings yet another trial, there exists the possibility of relief—when an unaware moment is ambushed, instead, with a tulip bouquet that comforts, “It will be okay.” : )

30.August.20

There are enough slices for everyone to have a few, so there is no need to cadge.

Who was supposed to bring the soda? Well, if they nixed their nudum pactum, they can have any burnt wedges.

Each piece looks like an arrowhead and you will need to open as wide as a shaftment to enjoy the ones with toppings supreme.

Kindred company around kitchen’s corner queue up for cuisine catered into queso-capped, conical cuts for all culinary clients. ; )

28.August.20

Our humps are not broken; our legs just needed a rest. There is not straw in the desert anyway—just sand.

As undertakers of transcontinental travelling services, we have established coopetition with vehicular modes: we stick to unpaved terrain and they cede tourists to us.

Most riders accept our already blankets, but someone once brought their own cushioning made of gambroon and our caravan’s colts rotated each day so that each could experience the cooling cloth.

Some guides share stories of schmaltz about tropical oases saving lost travellers and their camel-companions, but a pool is not the rule for rest here—a nap just requires a kneel rather than a keel, a hump rather than a pump, a wink rather than a sink, and a smile before another mile. ; )

27.August.20

I am black and white—and red all over the edge of my wing’s lower panel.

If I flap-flap right here, theory of chaos says it will tut-tut rain over there.

Those weary of dreary may vituperate me as the blame for their weathered storm.

But, where a leafed twig is a place to alight for peace, a bamstick’s fault-finding will never cease.

So, I out-seek company of kindred Lepidoptera, who pass on opps to be collected into a gipser’s space.

Even in a world widely wild, freedom from consequence remains a choice, not a fated, fettered case. ; )

J. P. D. T.

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