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Archive for May, 2021

even as we devour
the apple
scent of apple blossoms

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Some people say there’s nothing out there,
nothing but plains and the Platte and the sky.
A whole horizon of nothing,
and a barbed wire fence to hold back
all that nothing. But when you drive
through that nothing
perhaps a young scrappy man
on a half-breed mustang
will ride through your thoughts,
and hand you a letter
from one hundred sixty years ago.
For you, he’ll say with a tip of his hat
before he gallops away toward the west.
What might the past have to say to you
sent via Pony Express?
Perhaps something about
the beauty of nothing,
or how the road you choose matters.
Go ahead, friend, what are you waiting for?
Open that letter.

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It’s like moving west around the earth
so I might stay in perpetual sunrise—
moving to stay in that moment when the day
is blushing with potential.
 
But sometimes when I am very still,
I notice the sunrise within.
And I wake and I wake, and I wake
and by doing nothing, begin again.

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What a thrill to have a poem featured today in the fabulous Vox Populi, an ezine for poetry, politics and nature! In fact, I’m feeling Darn Lucky, as the title of the poem suggests! (a poem about friendship, trusting the world, waking up to start again).

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Today, I notice something green
spearing through the dirt
in the garden, and only
because there are eight such spears
rising in perfect rows do I vaguely remember
last year I planted bulbs there,
but I don’t remember what they are.
How much of the beauty we plant
do we forget?

There is so much in me that grows
because of words you have sown.
I doubt you remember them,
I don’t remember them, either,
only that your words were kind
and now they have taken root.

Who knows what the flowers
will look like? I water them, though,
trust I’ll be delighted when they bloom
into a garden of beautiful I don’t know.

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I save every
rubber band—
thick purple ones
from broccoli,
asparagus, leeks,
and the thin blue ones
used to keep berries
from spilling.
I could never throw away
a rubber band—
stretchy bonuses
thrown in for free.
 
Perhaps it’s strange
to call them blessings—
but I thrill in side benefits.
Like a talented new friend
hardwired for forgiveness.
Like the swooping choreography
of swallows that helps them
to eat biting flies.
Like how red wine is rich
with antioxidants.
Like a newspaper
filled with bad news,
but delivered with a useful,
flexible, rubber band.
 
 

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Lover of still water,
you, mosquito,
will not be missed
if I slap you,
 
the way I don’t
miss a tooth ache,
I don’t miss a rash
or the scent of carcasses,
 
and yet tiny blood sucker,
before the slap
I consider how
you herald spring,
 
how you come bearing song
on your wings.

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