In the Glory of the Morning

I bend over her

and watch her in bed.

Aaron taught me to be patient –

that the blue sticky umbrella petal

will always refuse to be rushed.

She sounds like an Eskimo kiss

with the slightest nuzzle of star ends,

and before even I can prepare,

hours seem like minutes

and I can taste Ipomoea purpurea

in the early sun-warmed air.

 

Exposed

At the height of spring,

there were seven eggs for me.

Hiding under the old great pine –

that I never thought would be gone,

but now is –

that was the best spot

if you had something

that you wouldn’t want found.

The needles stab at kids’ feet,

but it’s worth it even if there are no eggs

because that’s where the pink paper

walls hang from their roof

with the fluid clinging

of a pretty bleeding heart. 

 

Abortion

Mine is a gentle pull

on waves of royal blue

over a still, solid bottom.

I catch the ocean

in my cupped palm

and drink in liquid gold

from the heavens.

My greed is my demise,

but my children smile

because I have made them

whole again.

Until they are salty tears

of a mere sunflower,

they are alive.

 

In the tool shed!

He’d call to me,

with garden gloves

shaking stalks of –

something or other.

Sure as sun found sky,

he would make things grow.

I brought him scissors

in the summertime

to watch him shear away

sordid suckers of life,

the dandelions.

Dandy Lions

I pucker my lips

as they growl,

the panthers of the garden.

They are strong at root

and weak at seed.

It makes me feel strong,

just as they’d like.

A bowtie flies off too,

with a dandy flippancy.

These are "flower poems" from lit mag that I just found (looking for my best writing to submit to a competition tomorrow -- nervous!).  I really don't like them much, but I've decided to post them anyway because I like to have all of my writing in one place, where I can go back and revise it wherever I am. The last two I don't believe I ever turned in for credit, but they were just more fun for me.