Listening to Flowers
this delicate symphony
rests on my tongue
sliding into cadence
where violin and clarinet
raise a sharp taste
of snowdrops
cutting ice
leaving the flavor
of violet shadows
with notes strung
from finger to lip
while drums sway
a daffodil rhythm
I Know a Bank
where wild thyme tosses
clouds of perfume
trumpets of morning glory
hurry over the fence
whose daisies are these
raging hillside in waves?
thistles fold their prickles
into envelopes of grass
lean into the prayers
of shadowed monkshood
columbine raises
a late masquerade
so many wilds blow
softly through dusk
Joanna M. Weston is married, has two cats, multiple spiders, a herd of deer, and two derelict hen houses. Her middle-reader, Those Blue Shoes, was published by Clarity House Press, and her poetry, A Summer Father, was published by Frontenac House of Calgary. Her eBooks can be found at her blog: http://www.1960willowtree.wordpress.com/
No comments:
Post a Comment