Peteroo's Blog

Foliose branches glow.

Buds’ metastrophes show.

Paso doble causes blooms to grow.

Fractious friends fear fluorescent florals. ; )

Worry.

Easels in an ergatocracy may display plot rather than paint.

Dot-bomb puts to bed any hope for ‘da bomb’.

Sleeping makai conflicts with previously preferred orientation.

Lap’s limbs support a leviathan of loneliness.

Weary. ; )

Sweet Maria, recliner, when those ponderments turned paludal, I almost broke my own leg.

Ah, yes, armchair, I feel I am becoming all the more hoary with each sitting of the boring.

Oh, recliner, if only trouserdom were not, as well, drowserdom.

Ha, for sure, armchair. But, let us hope that falsidical features do not fix into a more fearful fall. ; )

How does one deem the gelid scene?

Past’s euxinia harshed many marine animals’ milieus.

Present’s warming wanes wild’s wintry wonderland.

Will future preserve icy wrythenings upon weathered wares due to Greta’s urgent vendition of changing change?

Hope has blues limning the land rather than living in man. ; )

I love imagining the wind playing bridge’s cables as if they were of a magadis.

I love my chosen lane and I look askance at those who would steer to close.

I love a stroll for views and pauses, where eyes bounce from look to look—as if comprised of caoutchouc.

I love the priceless peace that is those ephemeral moments when the world is won as one—postured for perseverance, perspective, and possibility. ; )