‘twas the season

the story of her ink circles and lines, my eyes
follow moves, ‘twas the season

tribal lines, lithe, attractive, sensual moves
making music, ‘twas the season

six of one, half the other, so he said
she did not follow, ‘twas the season

railroad set meant for play, link the tracks,
roll the train, not chew chew, ‘twas the season

shadows falling upon ten lawyers
with twenty opinions, ‘twas the season

can they count the tenement steps, not knowing
cellar coal bins, ‘twas the season

side door now fresh painted, easy to do
how didn't Steve know, ‘twas the season 

 

one of two responses to the challenge for the Franklin Senior Center's writers group. 

 

‘tis the season

where does your story begin, does it matter
how many turns, ‘tis the season

here to there, there to a new here, by roads less
or more like paths, ‘tis the season

in heart land, hearts will land, or compass spinning
veer off the course, ‘tis the season
 
the bright autumn leaves now coated wet, white, cold
in New England, ‘tis the season

nightmare or dream, keep breathing beneath, or through
the mask you wear, ‘tis the season

when you see horizontal snow shifting to
gentle falling, ‘tis the season

‘twas or ‘tis, a matter of tense, and with tensions tight
Steve'll choose ‘tis the season 

 

one of two responses to the challenge for the Franklin Senior Center's writers group.