She now plants landmines

Where she once stationed azaleas

But then spring is long past

Now, high sun skirmishes

Beseech to ignite the

Bonfires of autumn

Worse still, Jack Frost stirs

Rubbing his eyes, yawning

Rousing himself once more

Mischief, as ever

His vexing wheeze



That was then

When the ball was

Still in play


He stands, hands on hips

Curtains drawn wide open

Back bedroom, top of the house

Watching her prune

Whatever it is she prunes

Pondering the point

As to how from sustainable

Stalemate she has

Broken through his lines

To claim victory in a self-rule

He sees only as his rout


That this is a mere flash

An event anterior

To the cerebral scars

Of invidious bloodbath

Is the only saving grace

For this amiable jester,

Long since salvaged, now

Woven tightly into the

Threads of seasoned

New loves genius, and

The taffeta cloak

Masking for him alone

Her bountiful treasures






22 thoughts on “A CLOAK OF TREASURES

  1. Yikes! Does she know you know she was planting landmines for you?
    I’ve watched this documentary on sniffin’ ’em out.. they’ve got a dog and its handler scouring the area in patches. Tread lightly!

    1. That was long, long ago. An earlier wife (very nice gal as it happens – she really didn’t deserve to meet an idiot like me) not my lovely Shirl who, if the truth be known is as mad as a box of frogs

    1. Cheers – I can’t think of any other writers musings on the vagaries of life as you do that I read as it happens…more so with that authentic American writing style you have in shed loads

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