red dots

a legion of ladybugs
tip toeing along the grass stems
crawling helter-skelter
half hearted attempts
to fly from tips
at times all the ends
are punctuated
with red dots
that then descend
in merry-go-round fashion
natives monkeying up coconut trees
white eyes and black periods
on beetle blood colored shells
trotting up the space needle
a momentary surveillance
the lawn is crowded
in ladybug conference
up and down in afternoon dry breeze
up and down in wafting green blades
this season ripe with so many
cycles in weather and insects
so oblivious to memorial day traffic
so intent in their climbing industry
finally a loner launches
into the air
in a run-on sentence
floating out of sight

Copyright © 2006Peter Burg

slow streams of heat

the sky morning is weighed
with oven baked cottonwood fluffs
floating on slow streams of heat
dry enough for brown-purple iris
to finally emerge and nests
of web worms bursting form their
white branch den in motion like some
hand cranked grainy keystone cops
silent movie shooting up bad guy aspen leafs
spent dandelion orbs extending
up from the grass lay in wait
for their prehistoric expulsion from earth
anticipating their union with the cotton fluffs
it is a dry spring
it was a dry winter
it is likely to be a dry summer
colorado front range
the dry grass has a crinkle to it
and everyday the gray clouds
drop dry rain
i wonder what edgar cayce would say about dry rain
dryness has a different life it promotes
promoting thirst craving
and primordial cracks
promoter of shade dwellers
and hammock swingers
dry night people
devotee of water
this dry heat make us get things done
earlier in the day
in the slow streams of heat
overhearing the morning doves

Copyright © 2006Peter Burg

your flower arms

forever i am drawn
to your flower arms
green imprint tranquility
skin so naked hissing
glistening in the night
reflecting like reptile scales
replete in fragrance
and taste of hair
rub of stone solitary
yellow rose pulsating
penetrating crawl from
a crack in the concrete
a pounding tension
tight muscle thirst
for smooth stallion
neon embrace
i have searched about you
traversing orifice
with tongue and eye ball
gazing on bosom
pacified and round
pleasure plethora
and still the war
flood of shy birds
hiding in the bush
poised ready for flight
in the wilderness
of running heartbeats

Copyright © 2006Peter Burg

apocalypse chuckling

heard the thunder sneak
over the steep mountain
in the rustling night clear its throat
cold muttered gargle of the old man
this temper tantrum wind
kicking and screaming on the floor
frustrated prelude of an empty rain
it will remain arid arabian
the sky moisture is in mourning
reaching for burial in clouds
and whip of sunrays
there is nothing but the
ragged current depression
these false storms
do little more than
blow the dirt roads away
huffing and threatening weak leafs
downing electrical lines
and generally agitating
the posturing of a grand madam
nostrils flaring
i am waiting for that torrent
on the down side of the moon
apocalypse chuckling
in the background
i wait for something horrible
it jumps and wriggles
in my taunt muscles
the trouble maker
sinister and opportunist
it lies fathoms
patient grumbling rising
a pocket of bad air
erupting belch
destiny skirting past
on the face of gray cumulous