Monday, April 16, 2012

I'm six poems behind, as of today. But now just a few: this is what happens when I wake up to a windy, 70 degree day and have coffee in the backyard.


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Framed by ropes of wires
Against the flattened blue
Eerily slow, clouds crawl
Ignoring the surface of sky
And its features-- birds, ancient branchings
The points of pine or the skittering sun

Heedless, like the
Mind of God

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What Really Happened to Them


The last of the bees, huddled
Hidden in a fallen oak
Half a mile past some stream
Gathered their wings
Singing furious rhyme.

Hanging together
In a crowded new shape
They flew forth to become
The next jaguar.

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Anarchy


The peonies left and took the ants with them
Tigerlilies were on the fence, but
The roses are in revolt, so
I weed more carefully
Hoping to build goodwill--

And sow an army of sunflowers
Just in case.

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4/16/2012
by MK


1 comment:

Songsville said...

Yup, we need more jaguars -- though not less bees I guess ... maybe they can come back and pollinate in the jaguar off-season ...