Twiglet #65

A twiglet is a short phrase. Or a word. Its aim is to “prompt” a flow. A thought. A memory. If something comes to mind, write. A polished piece isn’t the goal; creativity is. Leave a link, if you’d like your work read, but comments should not be expected. Twiglets are posted on Tuesdays.

18 thoughts on “Twiglet #65”

  1. TEN A-WHISTLE-BLOWS POEMS

    1
    An engineer in wings plows his black-silver train,
    screaming down old tracks,
    those spent moments on the rails.

    2
    The whistle sound of a passing train
    is a portent of the final farewell.
    It reminds us to be waiting at the station.

    3
    I love the flirting bursts of wordless song
    from younger lips, whistling “ooh la la’s”
    at passing untouchables.

    4
    When they sang and danced and whistled
    on Vaudeville stages, joy filled the hall,
    but did those tunes sail on hidden tears?

    5
    How patiently from my sickbed
    I wait for the whistled warble
    of cardinals bearing spring gifts
    on their bright red wings!

    6
    A human canary sings The Whistle Blow.
    Cells creak open; con feet shuffle in.
    “Hey!” says the whistle blower, “I gotta live!”

    Page 2

    7
    When Mama’s teapot whistled
    or the pipes of our flat
    rattled whistle songs
    or when Anna learned with two fingers
    to whistle home our dog,
    we kids piled away memories.

    8
    Uncle Edsel wet his whistle
    when he should have left it dry.
    There’s nothing worse that sour notes
    that bubble up from rye.

    9
    Maybe it’s Gabriel’s horn
    or a distant strain of a patriotic flute.
    Perhaps the labored whistle
    of a wheezing distressed lung
    or a fervent call for prayer.

    10
    I cannot whistle “Dixie,”
    nor “Suwanee River” of the South.
    A small voice whispers “Nixie,”
    so, I’d better shut my mouth.

    #

    Liked by 1 person

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