B a l l T h r e e
Three dog night.
Three little words.
Three hens a laying.
Third time’s a charm.
And baby makes three.
Three’s a crowd.
The third degree.
Three blind mice.
I bet you can’t eat three.
Three strikes and you’re OUT.
Sometimes I have words flying at me
Entering my brain
Trying to make sentences.
From mind over full to flow on pages.
Filling them with marks and dots.
Occasionally making a complete thought.
Otherwise making scatters senseless
Of what little matters.
What is it you want to say?
Say what you mean.
Mean what you say.
If you say so.
So what do you say?
Words fly out of my fingers.
Fingers reach out for words.
Escaping the page to fly out of my mind.
Words wander freely thru phrases.
Turning the corner at bottom of pages.
Words wear names, cities, states, nations.
Words relieve the mind of thoughts.
Thoughts express ideas.
Ideas suggest concepts,
Plans of action, agendas.
I need to put my words to sleep.
Words keep popping up in my mind
Let her out. Let her be.
Words be still. Still free to wander.
Wishful words are things we want.
Words weave their way into contracts
Of prenuptial bliss, agreements.
Words analyze, discover pain.
Words recover, reward, explain.
by Janet Brugos Oakland, CA 2006