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Here are two poems made with a form that is completely new to me. At the bottom of the post is a link that explains the form. Summer flowers Roses, vincas, hostas, bushes Some are flowers —————————————————————————————————————————— Stifled by heat Roses drip with afternoon rain Body feels beat http://www.rainbowcommunications.org/wordplay/forms/Trilinca.pdf

A Writer’s Dilemma Here I sit with pen and pad...my hand is willing to write. Thoughts course through my mind, yet pass before clouded sight. I can write about kittens, puppies, or birds; possibilities flow endlessly. My mind searches for memories, that are special only to me. I see day old kittens in a rag-lined box; eyes closed tight while they feel, Along the belly of a Calico mother, for promise of a nourishing meal. I see puppies that jump and bounce; I stand in their midst to admire, Soft fur, shiny eyes, and wagging tails that never seem to tire. Birds flying like rolling waves, chased by a zephyr o'er the sea, They rise and fall in rhythmic flight, performing just for me. Visions come and visions go, many to my face bring a smile. On these thoughts I linger, satisfied to daydream a while. My hand rests, my pen is still; words have not been written. How will I start a poem I muse? It seems my brain is smitten. Thoughts of colorful flowers, and stars that twinkle at night; Of old autos with wood-spoked wheels, still my pen won't write. I behold horses in a sunlit pasture; a quaint farm among rolling hills. An oak tree with wide spread limbs, I am overwhelmed with thrills. A high-back rocker; a fireplace; a rippling stream in a wooded glen; A sailboat leans before a determined gale, I want to write, but when? Gradually these images fade, an hour passed by this time. I look at my pad, ithe paper is blank, nothing is written in rhyme. Oh, there will be other times, I’ll sit to write, I suppose... Or give way to visions of tall buildings, purple mountains, or a rose. A Final Farewell Dear Writers...today will be my last, I bid you all adieu. It’s difficult to leave, but I have other urgencies too. Poetry is rewarding, if you dare to share your mind. Writers are good listeners, they’re usually very kind. There is much I’d like to say, so much for me to write. So many more thoughts, I would like to bring to light. I’ve written epic stories; limericks, and poems that rhyme Also bits of foolishness...still I’ve set my departure time. This is my last offering, I’m certain you’ll understand. I'm now sitting at my computer, a keyboard 'neath my hand. I've typed these few lines, then suddenly...there is no more... If only...??? YarnSpinner robert.g.jerore@facebook.com