A Stitch In Rhyme Poem by Lovita Morang

It is day now,
It's cold inside the room
I have darkened my golden room
It is glowing like this rays of hope
A home of melody
Flight of flute.....
I shall play on....I hear this, call of longing....
And, I know....this day shall have another night
Stars waiting to glow...though it flows even in light
But, stars are light they are not visible in light
I don't have words to write,
It's only tune, for this time being
Being in this babouche,
Walking into the alleys of back forty
Expanse of sky,
Draws a line in horizon
I reach, from this golden walls to back of beyond
Through barren to hinterland
Minds like nuclear warheads
I clear the plastic mineral water bottles from
Wasteland in metropolis....
The plastic bottles float on black water
like doomsday machine, mutter
Standstill by the backstop, rack and ruin
I tried to stop the reign dance of Damascus blade,
The click and sleek of creese
Clamour of claymore, rue commands, it bade
I played the flute, flue cleaner stitching the chore
It's tune only, if you can hear the devoir
Devoid of a good many, a little at a time, Idevour
I devote to tongueless time, words unpronounced
I don't have words to write, dayspring in flush of the morning
I write to praise. Is that a trite language, wordless
Merge of love....meander into abuttal verge
Like merge of rivers into one, freedom to firm the frailest
Ocean it becomes, Water of love, tamest
Saxophone is surreal
Flute a fantasy
Allows me to take the flight light, aboriginal
As if Botticelli's masterpiece, in bice
Bathed in rain, sea breeze, surreal
Birth of Venus vigours theeyeful charm of morning star
A cadence in the c'est la vie, vie for viewfinder
Orb of night, keen on pumpkin, the taste of win
Something to fall back on,
like the wandering star's will
Yen I big eyes fill, feed to the gills
When I raft the ragged edge of the ragtime....
Throw a wet blanket on,
charring kelp tangled in seafarers' song
Seagulls take to the air,
Circling sky out,
Landloping bird dog, the galloping alarm clock click
Shorewards asea, waves by waves, I ride
Rah rah! Raining furlough, a sticth in rhymeI lug, I buck, I glide.

-Poem by Lovita J R Morang