All this Sand

VERGE of sand, bordering on sand, looking out on sand.
CAMEL stands there with a camel smile,
PUTTY lips chewing away on a tuft of saltbush.
GRASS would be juicier, but grass is not to be had, here in all this sand.

Parking place

I parked my camel on the grass VERGE
while I went off to buy some PUTTY.
When I returned someone had pasted an irate sign on the CAMEL, handwritten, in large, red letters: Camels Are Not Permitted on the GRASS! 

Cruelty and Anger

CRUEL words, a given of life, but uneasy input to a poem.
LIVID comes next, adding to oppressive sense. Cruelty and anger,
SPIED at remove, or experienced up close, or inflicted,
BLEND into malaise. Where is peace, where joy, who can establish them?

Note: still behind a day.

Embattled Warrior

My VISOR has lost a RIVET –
CEASE your warfare till I’m AFOOT again.
It’s CRUEL to attack when my blood BLENDs
with the LIVID scars you’ve SPIED from previous battles.

COVID

CRUEL season when we were all

LIVID with THOSE OTHER PEOPLE and

SPIED out their nauseous social media declarations, toxic

BLEND of self righteousness, scorn, and fear.

Connecticut Yankee Yearns for a Cigar

RIVETs on the armored wagon finished, he flips up the welding
VISOR. He wants a cigar. War gear he can fashion. But tobacco?
CEASEless forging of weaponry needs iron and fire, stable across much time: war is always
AFOOT. But plants a continent over? More than smithing is involved.

Note: I was behind a day. Now I want to re-read https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/A_Connecticut_Yankee_in_King_Arthur%27s_Court