The lone red
most ordinary tulip
in the front garden
has surprisingly mmorphed
...
She was a perfect composition sitting there
broad brown face with smile as white as lilies,
red rebozo, red pail of flowers,
skirts spread around her like an audience.
...
Words resound in my soul like gongs
or the bells in the Buddhist temple
where the saffron-clad boy-monk
sidled close to me on the bench
...
Bright blue bits of sky
assert themselves
through soft spring scrim
bell the morning
...
Shrill whistles pierce the country calm
as peacocks flounce florescent tails.
Imprisoned in their corsets, ladies
...
A poet I know said
God is a radish.
I thought about that for a long time,
trying to make a connection
...
I pick up
shells and stones and sea glass
wave-glazed and glossy still
on early morning beach walks
...
I am red, surrounded by purple
color my life, the scent of my breath
I eat it, drink it bathe in it daily
...
The glass of wild broom on the bathroom shelf
one petal already fallen
yellow on warm oiled wood
says hurry outside
...
(the first line of the poem is from Emily Dickinsen)
Angels rent the house nest ours wherever we remove
...