Rambling Rose

(in Blank Verse)

Looking through the prism of many thoughts;
In some thing or some other the whole world,
Thinks the clamacherry is a cherry.

Talking at, and not to folks, they converse;
Civil tongue clipped on a long hiatus;
Conceptual faux pas striking up heat.

Trimming the facts we bake upside down cakes;
Web extravaganza, spiders have brains;
People walk on fingers not on their feet.

The truth not in the taste, but in the eyes;
Imagery clouds the imagination,
Pouring rain drops, to seed those many thoughts.

Stop! Think now, about the clamacherry;
It is a cherry, but in name only;
The truth is in taste, and not its shape.

From clamacherry wood the poor make bats;
Stick mango shoes with clamacherry glue
The rich smooth those poor bats with sandpaper.

The economy now in a deep tank;
Leaking at all corners, top and bottom;
Bright brains fix tank with clamacherry glue.

Frankly, the future is rosy in dreams;
But if we dear not to dream, then what next?
Our potential we would never know.

© Paterika Hengreaves
January 28, 2011/9.05 AM
Barbados