fallen leaves


There’s nothing remarkable

about giving Gravity

his way, nothing noteworthy

about this free-fall; no great

burden of excellence hangs

about the necks of the damned

as they rot in earthen graves.


Falling is too natural

to draw comments from the stands,

stumbling too easy to raise

an eyebrow or stir surprise.

So when she rose from the dead,

walked away from the compost

in her burnt orange platform

heels, she really stepped it up.


So unexpected, this beauty.

My eyes looked past and through you,

Seeking the spectacular vernacular,

The oohs and aaahs of those who wring out the spotlight

And demand observance.

But you in your chore clothes,

Springing from a sour work-horse womb,

Peel away the cataracts of preconceived notions

And leave me breathless…

The photo depicts rhubarb in bloom.  In all the years I have been gardening, I must say I have never really noticed, to my shame, the beauty in it.  The blossoms grow on stems which are useless and must be removed to ensure that the plant doesn’t think its job of propogating itself is done, thus slowing down the growth of the blood red  stems which are the real prize.  How much beauty have I missed with my blinkers on?  Ah, for eyes that are truly open…