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green grow the peas in the heart of the winter.
it's a miracle.
but peas know what they know.
they know it's time to thrive, and bloom,
and make baby peas inside those nice sleek pea pods.
even when there are tufts of snow on the ground.
white, and crisp, nearly the essence of purity.
**
the crowd at the museum was good that
day.
everybody likes to see good paintings
of naked people.
**
the sexy naked athletic big-dicked teenage boy
was up in his room, admiring himself in
the mirror. as usual, he was so pleased with what
he saw that he started tugging on his big
hard dick until he spurted cum.
the cum splatted onto the rug, and
then soaked in. he acted like he
didn't care, because he didn't.
**
when the robin began to sing,
the certainty of the vernal arrival schedule
seemed assured,
and, by that time,
the pea vines were already
dead.
**
the rug in
the bedroom of
the sexy naked athletic big-dicked teenage boy
was kind of crispy from all the dried cum, but,
damn, if the sexy naked athletic big-dicked teenage boy
didn't look good.
**
real good.
**
and, by that, we mean,
excellent.

--Carl Miller Daniels (This poem appeared in Citizens for Decent Literature, Issue #5, 2013.)