Put to shame by the wind which
goeth wherever it listeth giving
no cool advice to hills it caresses
nor hot admonition to lizard or
rabbit it chases into holes of denial.
We are chastened by spring flowers
who know their days and in their hours
shoot up stems with vehemence,
bud in concert with elegance and
donate the loveliness of their heads
with selfless eloquence following
the order of more unsentimental
centuries than we can count.
Unlike man the daffodil senses
she is not a rose or a blossoming
fruit tree. She will not and won’t
bear fruit for a hearty harvest
two seasons down an imaginary
road mapped out by agriculturalists.
We build our homes to not live
as a part of divine creation above
and below the chill of moonless
desert night and heat of verdent
height of sun where salty lapping
tells stories of turtle and octopus
to barely listening thorny brush under
carefree and careless canopy where
alternative stories pass between
touching branches, leaping monkeys
and scurrying shadows from beach
to bare and rocky mountain then
down the other side to river carrying
cargo, soil, life and devastation
to the lowlands where you and I
continue energetic conversation
on the porch of the house raised
to protect us from endlessness
of element and base rhythm
where we linger isolated longer
than we should in seventy degree
regularity until the tulip points
an accusing finger to remind
humankind of the spheres left
behind when we decided we were
gods and wholes with only carefully
managed connections to happenings
to innumerability and the writhings
we call ‘beauty’ and ‘generosity’
when snow melts and the spring
flowers chastise our arrogance.


About mrsorenson

NOT my president
This entry was posted in poem, poetry and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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