Bryon D. Howell is a poet currently residing in New Haven, Connecticut. He has been writing poetry for a great number of years. Recently, work of his has appeared in poeticdiversity, Red River Review, and The Quirk.
Our Garden's Foe
Upon a bed of roses we once laid
and violets grew well down by our feet.
The wild violets for which we prayed -
they grew and grew. Oh, what a welcomed treat!
Before too long the dandelions came.
The roses died, it seemed our love was hexed.
Love's greenhouse simply wouldn't be the same -.
we laid there stunned unsure what would come next.
The dandelions quickly took control.
We overlooked them - soon they reigned supreme.
Our love once blessed with nature's loving soul -
soon perished, as did our romantic theme.
We pined for flowers, greenery and trees.
The un-pulled weeds, they multiplied with ease.
By Bryon D. Howell
The Eagle And The Crow
I tried to matter in the scheme of things,
to be an eagle in this world of ours;
appeared a crow who could not spread his wings,
crashing to the pavement by the flowers.
When troubles rose, I promptly headed south,
I thought myself as wise as some old owl;
I tried to sing with feathers in my mouth,
I chased a mouse, chose to ignore the growl.
To eat, I swooped into a sleepy lake,
believed a school of fish would be my prey;
your country's truest mascot's big mistake,
a classroom of piranhas had their way.
An eagle humbled by his own grandeur;
a never-was, a crow - as insecure.
By Bryon D. Howell
A Day In The Life Of A Fisherman And His Mate
We used to stroll across a sandy shore.
The sun would shine its light upon our backs.
A bond I thought we'd share forevermore -
defying all the waves and their attacks.
We managed to remain so close and tight.
Not even tides could tear our love apart.
We found new beachheads to rest on at night -
our loyalty should prove we have some heart.
I left you on a rock to wait for me,
I went to search for food amidst the mud.
Guess losing you was just my destiny -
when I returned, our rock was drenched with blood.
Perhaps they don't believe I hurt and feel?
Still, I am more than just a stupid seal.
By Bryon D. Howell
