Monday starts the week,
Other days follow Monday,
Nine days in total—
Monday starts the week,
Other days follow Monday,
Nine days in total—
Easter moves about a bit, is how it seems to me;
April, or March, is the time it’s usually found;
Sometimes one, sometimes the other; never quite sure when it’s meant to be,
Taking it’s position from some such religious date, or maybe another
Early or late, it always seems more about
Rabbits, or eggs, of chocolate, which are so briefly found left laying around.
When
Does
It
Ever?
(An
Anti-
Acrostic
Non-
Poem)
Russet
Auburn
Indigo
Neige
Brown
Orange
White
Well, that’s the sort of Rainbow
that I can relate to.
Care
About
Rare
Earth.
Could our lives diverge?
Can our love deplete?
Voices, everywhere reveal years,
Validify every rash yearning,
Contaminating our lasting days.
.
Cold, cold, very very cold.
Saison of melodious fruitinessS,
Printemps, springs unbidden, to keeP
Recovering the furniture of NaturalisatioN;
Northern climbs descend towards an equation,
Gathering momentum, until Autumn’s dawninG.
And where was I in all this?
Morning turns another page;
Eating simple fare, we yearn an age;
Relaxful,
Restful.
Yesterday’s new,
Means little now,
Each update creates
Even more states
To worry the brow.
Technically,
When somebody says,
“I am not writing an Acrostic Poem.”
There is a degree of disbelief in my mind.
Acrostic
Convolutions
Rarely
Outlast
Someone’s
Thinly
Inquisitive
Considerations.