dance in this rose day sun
scented with fushia blooms
and locust perfume
feel wind’s fingers
through chestnut locks
and hear her sweet songs
in newborn maple leaves
for somewhere else
her anger left homes
in splinters and children buried
in rubble
dance in this rose day sun
scented with fushia blooms
and locust perfume
feel wind’s fingers
through chestnut locks
and hear her sweet songs
in newborn maple leaves
for somewhere else
her anger left homes
in splinters and children buried
in rubble
invigorating imagery, utterly beautiful!
it is a sense of place, a place of contrast–both sweet and chilling imagery–makes one stop
For me, it’s more than the literal wind; it makes me think of two individuals having opposite perspectives of the same thing. 😉 A poem with much possibilities to explore. Thank you for its wisdom shared. Cheers.
so true
the delicate feel of this, seduces me and then
the ending, the brutal truth.
Thank you, Cynthia.
Here the wind has been gentle and the temperatures beautifully summer but for the states north of us, west of us and just south of us, it’s been nightmarish. I’m thinking about the folks in the midwest right now and a few weeks ago in Arkansas and other states.
Thanks, Rick!
S.L., thanks and absolutely, it could be two people with opposing views. I like that take on it.
Thanks, Scot.
I know these terrible storms have been going on since late winter and every day that we have a cotton ball blue sky here I turn on the television or radio or internet and learn that somewhere has suffered a deluge.
Sumedh,
Thank you so very much.
Nochipa