“A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.” -Percy Bysshe Shelley
Showing posts with label dew. Show all posts
Showing posts with label dew. Show all posts
Wednesday, October 9, 2019
Co-habit
Coyotes call out
as my alarm
under the mourning doves
coo who
take shelter and shade themselves
for the sunrise says something
predictably ominous and
October or somber.
Today, together, we all rise,
pecking or rooting our way
to live through the next
far-off sounds
Encased in lives that spin
bodies that stir
the world around
in space and time.
The shadows these worlds cast
are not solid bodies and growth
gives off chemical cues
that like evaporation,
dew always dissipates
into tomorrow,
there and gone,
a scent of something passed.
Photo credit: National Park Service from USA, taken 8/2017 [Public domain].
Wednesday, September 6, 2017
Bacchus Backyard
span across the near horizon
Solemn in mourning lilac
Steam rose from out of the spires
and out of wooden crosses,
and out of wooden crosses,
The sun masked itself
in a shy white haze
that climbed through all
betweens and up over
the narrow rows, hurdles crosses
an angel in the cemetery
lands
the feet feel home
lands
the feet feel home
The wine is red, the blood is fresh
and tears dew
nourish the vine.
Painting by Caravaggio [Public domain], Young sick Bacchus (1593) via Wikimedia Commons.
Painting by Caravaggio [Public domain], Young sick Bacchus (1593) via Wikimedia Commons.
Monday, August 15, 2016
Always greener
I have been watering the grass,
I have brushed my teeth-wait-yes,
with the water on too long
I have washed my car-
worse I have had it washed.
I have cut the two best roses
for myself by the coffeepot
to smell in the morning.
I have said too much,
I have said nothing at all.
I have flooded the attic-
and the walls may cave
in on me-
but that would be selfishly
about me.
I have sunk to new levels,
as water will often dew.
Image By Leon Brooks [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.
Sunday, June 12, 2016
Scratch and sniff
We rose Sun hid
I have smelt falling stars
pungent peopled drapery for day
leaning up steadfast
petals out rooted repetition
for dew digs deep
Sinks in
(either way).
Painting by Winslow Homer, Woman with a Rose (1879), in [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.
Painting by Winslow Homer, Woman with a Rose (1879), in [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.
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