Poetry by Me (in progress)

hopeful  (August 28, 2011)

 

I have a tiny white flower

in a plastic glass on the windowsill.

It blinks at me when I walk away.

When it falls over,

the empty cup beside the drowned thing,

I don’t want to see it.

I would pick up the flower and

try to put it back in water,

to resurrect the wilted stalk,

a reedy thread between thumb and finger.

It was dead before it hit the floor.

But right now, it looks pretty and delicate -

reflecting soft rays of the sun and

feeling a breeze blow softly moving the curtains

September 30, 2011

 

A Walk in September

 

Yellow-brown leaves lie gently on the hardening ground

 

and wet grass

A mouldering fence reclines, at ease

amid the poplar stands

 

Tall white queens through sun-yellow crowns

filter cerulean sky

Regal and silent the owl swoops low

gray-black on a cinder snag

 

Berries in red translucent glory

glisten unbitten

Hidden in damp sprigs shedding the embroidered

early morning frost