Bloom

Morden Blush rose

 

One of the greatest ironies of life

is that the very storms that make you cry

also enable you to

bloom.

 

Doing the Math

sprucebranch

 

And so we wait,

Wind crunching numbers

Multiplying grievance, dividing winter

Days into fragmented ticks of a frozen clock.

In addition, only the sum total counts;

But the square root of snow

Is a water molecule,

And so we wait.

O Murky Depths

vortex.jpg

O murky depths,

you mesmerize;

you pull me places

I despise.

Your vortex calls,

compelling sound –

but if I choose,

I need not drown.

Your siren song

is but a lie,

a quick-fix hoax,

a warring cry.

You seek to drag

me to my grave;

I will not bow,

or be your slave.

One Molecule at a Time

Miraculous media –

minutes melting,

duration dripping,

seconds slipping,

liquid allotment

evaporating into infinity,

Time

inscribed into

rusty palm,

infinitesimal increments

spinning into space

one molecule at a time…

Lines Drawn in the Sand

Your branches rake the sky,

impotent fingers curled in grave-clothes

clutching pipe dreams of the Living Ones.

Your skin has long since

ceased to hold its contents,

draining your life’s blood into the sea

before being spewed onto the sand,

a jinxed Jonah, a shrivelled mummy with no sphinx

to mark your place.

In life,

you hatched egrets and expelled oxygen

and marked the seasons with your foliar calendar.

In death,

here you are,

washed up,

a beached whale

whose art is a shadow,

 lines drawn in the sand…

Quench

Liquid refresher course, learning by osmosis, a study in cyclical science;

Draped in cloak of geometric beauty, abacus adding drip to drop.

Verbs, how I love you, let me count the ways in which

You personify perfection in your description;

Suit action to word, and call it like

It is – trickle, plop, ripple,

Dazzle, drizzle,

Quench.