Deborah Harvey Poems

The dewdrops cling with steadfast resolve.

As if knowing once let loose all is gone.
...

Thunder rumbles in the electric sky.
Sonic booms ricocheting
among the puce and
oyster clouds.
...

It seems
as if...
we are always
living in the fog.
...

Loss is a language I’m fluent in.

Its syllables rush forth with martial precision.
...

I leave a blizzard of white feathers in my wake,
a downy path to obsolescence.
Ruminating over misspent passion...
Misplaced trust.
...

I release my words upon the wind.
Tiny dancers pirouetting amid the zephyrs.
Like nestlings on their first foray into the brilliant blue,
Tentative and loose limbed,
...

A million individual nuances,
blend together
in a harmonizing array.
Superimposed images
...