Old Mind Poems

                A Concert


Six hoboes played oboes in a rowboat.

The lake got tossy, and the rocks were mossy.

Rain drummed the land made mostly of sand,

and the sky got mighty bossy.

My heart strings thrumbled

when the high clouds grumbled,

and a bolt of light leapt from depth to height

and into the lake I tumbled.

I swam and bam and slam and blam.

I awoke from a stroke --  I knew --

when the wet sun rested on a plate of blue.


               Johnny Pogo Medeiros, May 2017




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