year of rest

The plum tree, puny though in full flush
of summer, all its neighbors lush in sun-glow.
Limp-leaved, drab. Last year—remember?—
its branches heavy-laden, juicy, buzzing,
a jewel among backyards, good provider
of jam. Winter, amber in promise. But now—
Rest, my dear. Dream away
these sunny days, rebuilding your strength.
Hold this green and gold reaching from your roots,
an encouragement.

Advertisements

Rose says there is no mystery

in this brash laughing season no curiosity
for everything is on display and all the work
long done—you see the bloom the fruit wild
without worry for the killing cold season
far and far away spring frost forgotten
like a bad dream—so lay your head just there
in my lap sunlight washing through closed eyelids
this caress the breeze on your open throat
and if all beauty all bounty is not for you…?

Last week, one of Claudia’s snippets included the phrase “episodes of curiosity.” It stuck with me…

Grow-how

1.
what leafing follows
like a river from your roots?
were you made (inevitable,
complete) or do you knit yourself
from the inside out, glorious
short-flowered, incandescent
with doubt?

2.
what light-shine sun into muddled heart?
how to grow, how to know, where to direct
this heat and soul, your doubt-seed
flowered into hard, black fruit
bitter and somehow
appealing

I wanted to do something a little different for this year’s National Poetry Month, so I made myself a journal called Yes Words to doodle some inspiration.

img_3109-1IMG_2843