Parabola
A careful curved creation.
Prints upon the paper,
A fingerprint or smudge,
A piece of a parabola,
You can be the judge.
A careful curved creation,
A frozen photograph,
Painted on an easel,
The way you make me laugh.
Serving up sensations,
Clouds that float on by,
A dish I wish that wasn’t,
Yet, I’ll give it a try.
The veins that frame a heartbeat,
And parabolic pulse,
Sweating gallons in the heat,
All on an impulse.
More meat and potatoes,
Nitty-gritty too,
Plain, perfect and peaceful,
As I select a few.
Wheels that hiss and rattle,
A parabolic leap,
Twists and turns and other tricks,
Sweep past in my sleep.
Thoughts that fall like raindrops,
My face, my nose and lips,
And then a walk-in morning rain
I was watching the eclipse.
I’m poised on a parabola,
Then slip and sail away,
In the air without a care,
To a place of come what may.
©
David Rudder
2022
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