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…

may pond, 2&3

17 may

which will I remember for you—
grass-grown gravel track away
from constant surge and pass of cars
in bright sunshine; eight ducklings
tumbling in still water beneath the bank;
willow’s huge grateful shade; one tractor
loud-plowing this last possible acre
among apartments, hospital, shopping mall

*

18 may

all ducklings aground
in hidden huddled shelter;
gust-ruffled water

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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.

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