Poetry


MAN IN THE GARDEN

Languishing

     for a lone sprout,

A man desperately

     presses nasturtium seeds

     into the earth, 

     as he sprawls in

     his garden pea patch

Feeling more alive–

     his fingers touch

     the tip of a jonquil`s leaf

Dark, glossy curls in his eyes

     his head rests on his other arm 

Veins under his pale skin

     beating life-

     like the vines of persistent mint

     which he is crushing

     in his recumbent desperation

     oblivious–

     to the mud beneath him,

     beseeching March`s 

     parting clouds

     for blossoms and buds

Defiant kale plants applaud him

     replete with arches of butter florets 

     up and out

     at the end of a winter season

     yellow respite

     preview of coming blooms

*****************************

BRIEF TRIP

A cool wind wrapped around me twice

Pulled me softly from my blues

Lifted me to skyline heights

And then returned me to my shoes

*****************************

IN THE MOMENT

Cast like a net of diamonds,

stars hung, 

legion.

A constellation,

tiara on the head of night.

Sky of silky natural-

jet blackness.

Loosely woven sheaths of air.

Firefly highlights,

under

the full orb,

butter moon.

Owls,

upon unmoving branches,

the “whooo”–

cooing,

waiting.

The air, the wind,

tepid like forgotten bathwater,

fluid, ink darkness,

flowed round me like velvet drapes.

And in my saturation

of this other earthly moment,

I closed my eyes, and dreamt,

of no other time.

by Sara Mossma