Skip to main content

Wild Poems

My emotions rock
like waves
a victim of forces uncontrolled.

My heart sings
Lord, it’s beautiful.
How does that calm survive the chaos?

Purple Martins fly,
Ripe plums bend branches.
Beautiful brick marches
where grass grows green.
We will all be okay.

A jigsaw of clouds
What looks foreboding
creates contrast, warning us,
“We are alive.”

We can no more hold light
than create our own peace.
It rains,
proving me right.

The intention of vines
conquering tree trunks
mounding fences
leaving the landscape
soft as a cat’s haunch.

Comments (3)

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *