In the valley
the rusted trees
the sea’s brass glint
to our east
where valved thunder
Did Spring relent her blossoming sending
hoarfrost late on unripened cherries?
Did she fertilize her stillborn bushels,
caramelize her green bulbs like lollipops
so bloom and harvest could become one garden
of unpicked crops and unrung peal of bells?
She did not lament with rainshower that month
the loss of a single orchard of my cherries,
only she must carry on her season
in abundance, with nothing left undone.
This is for the unconsoled
Mindfulness, Spontaneity and Authenticity
(Somewhat) Daily News from the World of Literary Nonfiction
Juan Pablo Duboue - Poetry
when abstract art speaks poetry in three lines
no future. no quality. no ink
Honest. Satirical. Observations.
Virtual Vegan Comics for Children