Wild Flowers♥

Welcome to my Blog. You will find poetry here. All poems are my original work unless otherwise indicated. Enjoy! Why Wild Flowers? Because... "When a wild flower grows it picks its space." -- Sheryl Crow, and: "Nobody knows a wild flower still grows by the side of the road." -- Bon Jovi

Thursday, August 31, 2006

The Many Names For Sun

The following poems are from a series of Chinese Songs my friend Gary Blankenship, who introduced me to the form, and I are writing. We have been exchanging these poems for one year this September, my first in the series is dated 9-9-05, we are over 120 songs. With this momentous anniversary I have picked some to share, which was a difficult task at best with so many to choose from. The even numbers are mine, the odd numbers Gary's. Enjoy!

64. Backlight, Loss

I walk through ageless white pines, lost;
the path narrow, the way is long.
I watch trees toppled by machines;
today darkness swallows the forest.

65. Sunbonnet, Meeting

Broad wings of calico hide her plain face,
the bill of a ragged cap hides his eyes.
Rough hands browned from years under desert sun
touch a bow holding sheaves of flaxen hair.

66. Sun-splashed, Shadow

Noonlight washes the dark northern woods,
tree silhouettes sway across the snow.
I see one porcupine high in old pines;
fat ball of quills, our morning argument.

67. Sundisk, Happiness

A winter of near record rainfall
has seemed to last for an entire year.
Today, balmy, blue skies all around;
weather for scolding squirrels, new nests.

68. Solar Sail, Arrival

We prepare, mount our new bluebird nest box,
plant seeds in mini peat pot starter trays;
post for the first fragile green sprouts flight,
the sudden blue feathering of wings.

69. Dusk, Departure

A bluebird box mounted near the fence;
sparrows dab mud under garage eaves.
A small boy filling his b-b gun,
only red birds and gray in our future.

70. Sunfast, Feat

Swiftly the gray squirrel travels the eaves,
teases the cats with bushy tailed antics.
Interrupted, the chickadees complain
this intruder hangs by back toes and eats.

73. Sky Wheel, Journeys

The road we travel, dark and tree-lined;
the bridge at the end, slippery and wet.
Beyond the stream, fields of fresh flowers;
a cabin large where two can lay their head.