Posted in Nature, poetry

Miracles

I looked for you again
in the garden, as I have
each year when the light grows long
upon the grass,
remembering that moment
when you lit upon my knuckle,
your tatted wings the hue of
ripened limes,
and eyes like orchid beads,
and wondered what you were,
what passing phase—youth or age or in between—
delivered you to me,
and felt your flutters kiss my skin
before you floated out of sight,
and left me wanting more,
as miracles often do.

©2021 All Rights Reserve

Posted in poetry, Uncategorized

Futility 2021

“—O what made fatuous sunbeams toil
To break earth’s sleep at all?”
(“Futility” by Wilfred Owen)

Your sugar plastic meat free life,
your efforts to conserve,
preserve environmental health,
consumption of some friendly bugs
and supplements
(because because) and seven hours
every night, and exercise,
(yes)
runs and walks and weights
to make you strong and pump
your cells with oxygen
that keeps you toned, and feeds your brain,
which you work more with puzzles,
articles in journals
and the latest books you load
onto devices and devour
to stay enlightened,
be informed beyond the news
you watch each night.

And when the virus hit,
you did your part as fiercely
as it adapted,
and masked and Zoomed
and ordered in,
and brought meals to your neighbors,
wept as family friends
got sick and died,
attended funerals remotely,
brought righteous fury to your ballots
while reveling in advances
that brought Mars into your home
and kept researchers toiling
in their labs for a vaccine,
the chance to bare your arm,
and feel safe again with friends,
in transit, stores,
one day, one day…
(because you’re a believer, dare to hope)

Only to have it all undone,
By easy purchase of a gun.

©2021 All Rights Reserved

Posted in Nature, poetry

Petal Shock

You loathe me.

I can tell by the way
you drive dulled prongs
into the soil
and twist.

Or plunge your rusted wedge
into my heart of secrets,
to loose my grip
on life.

I see the way you look at me
when I resist,
the bile rising in
your eyes.

What is it that offends?

Your vapors leave me
breathless, stinging,
withering
on Why?

Don’t you know your war is folly?

For even as I wilt,
my sister sheds her crown of
fresh seed tears

to spite your pride.

©2016 by Barbara Froman