Tuesday, June 27, 2017

Observation


Observation

Are you captured
by the deep green
or the lack of it.

Is this a
two-tone design
or a fortunate accident?

Do you see the
individual parts or
just lights and darks?

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Thursday, June 22, 2017

Periodical Cicadas


Periodical Cicadas

Have you heard the buzz?
Seventeen years in the making.
The cicadas were underground
sipping the sap until they
got the cue to come out
and sing for us.

The prompt for this poem was bugs.

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Tuesday, June 20, 2017

Surviving a Storm


Surviving a Storm

Rain hit the house,
thrown by the force
of the wind.

Whooossshhh!
The only time I'd
heard that sound
was when a
limb came down.

Not this time.
Only scattered debris
came off the trees.

But, in the garden,
two stalks of
a coneflower stretched
out on the ground.
A pink blossom was
spattered with mud.

The plant did not
seem to be broken.
Perhaps, it did
what it had to do
to survive.

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Thursday, June 15, 2017

Midnight


Midnight

We talk about
the dawn of day,
the rising sun
escorted by
streaks of color.

The real change
occurs hours before,
marked by
the tick of a clock.

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Tuesday, June 13, 2017

Watch for Me


Watch for Me

I take a peek
at the world.
A side splits
and gives a preview
of my rich redness.
Watch for me to open.
Once I'm on display,
I'm gone within a day.

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Thursday, June 8, 2017

Immigration


Immigration

The backyards meet
and are divided by
a fence, a wire wall
with many openings.

The neighbors
planted tiger lilies
that crossed this border
and took up residence
on my property.

I welcomed them.
Their beauty was
reason enough, but
they also brought back
memories of
my aunt and uncle;
my first home, and
the orange blossoms
that lined the driveway.

I wonder if  
different owners
thought the plants
moved from my yard
into theirs. If so,
did they complain
that these lilies
didn't belong there?
I hope not.
Why should it matter
where the flowers came from
when all they did was
enhance the landscape?

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Tuesday, June 6, 2017

Harvest


Harvest

As I work in the garden,
poems are self-sowing.
They grow among the flowers.
Begin as colors, shapes and sizes.
Have a certain posture.
They blossom in different ways.
Burst out at me or unfold slowly.
Then, the time comes to cut them down.

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