The first poem in months has bubbled its way to the surface and I've managed to capture its tentacles in a hastily constructed trap of pen and paper. The black ink has stained the page in defense, now I must wrestle the pubescent beast into line.
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Loons
The house stifles, hot and humid
after days in the wood
reveling in beauty
creation personified
Menopause
a sweltering suffocating pause
if all were stripped away
still I would swoon with the heat
tired eyes slow body
waking nights
no words can contain
nor relieve
I need the air
the cool the breeze
the loon crazy on the lake
like me in this house
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