Category: flowers
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The Congress of Birds
(any allusions to Attar’s The Conference of Birds are subconscious and probably intentional) Birds fuss at the sun squirrels, the neighbor’s cat a snake and other birds They call back and forth in bushes and trees from fence and power lines Some may even bully honk get out of my way I’m coming through There…
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Daily news
at the street by your mailbox you lean your rake against the broken wall watch white blossoms melt from trees and listen to daylight talk about mortality 4-1-20
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Spring
white lilies yellow flowers violets in the shade wisteria green grass azaleas along a fence black crow Carolina wren hawk circles in a blue sky 3-26-20
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The gardener
wet from a shower stand naked in a mirror admire bouquets red and blue roses on ankles and thighs tight buds broken open each petal and stem sown and watered life’s victory garland looks good on you 3-18-20
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Imagining My Northern Mother as a Southern Girl
tulip trees and camellias flash spring fashion reds and pinks and whites my mother would of loved April and May arriving in February I wonder what she would have decorated her yard with I imagine a magnolia yellow day lilies and something purple like grandpa’s irises that bloomed in May she would have grown vegetables…
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Februa Sacrificium
during the night while red camellia petals sought atonement a dead branch fell on its own accord upon damp and sandy soil a green leaf at dawn needs only a small breeze to dance and shimmer in the sun 2-3-20
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yellow flowers
At night, on her living room wall hung a Van Gogh reproduction of a vase of yellow flowers on a sunny day and on rainy mornings a Van Gogh reproduction of a vase of yellow flowers on a sunny day still hung on her living wall and one rainy morning you realized somewhere was a…
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for Steve
Not every bough in paradise is laden with ripened fruit hanging eye-level for you to pick Listen – there is a hush in sacrifice when fruit falls overripe sweet upon the ground Waiting for the gathering up the crush of the cider press numinosity dripping in a jug Rendered sacred for cool evenings to sip…
My husband's poetry 