(i)
A hen spins
her comb
crown as queen
of a racing
sprawling garden.
Within rising
fern and shamrock
walls of plants
and jumping trees
adorned
with lime
and harlequin leaves,
a gaudy fire
of flowers glows
with red
and bumblebee
petals
and gold flames
of gold chicks
adorned
with speckled
a garden
expands its wings
and tail,
a stretch to a gate
into unclothed sky
pouring
sunshine
to flow
down in waves
in the wind.
(ii)
Sharp flashes
of orange
and
turquoise
twinkling like stars,
fireflies
hiding in far-flung
places
harboring dots
and speckles
of slim light, creeping
down
to crown a hen
with a rouge
and taffy comb.
(iii)
The clucking hen's
speckled
overgrown chicks
squeak and cheep
down a narrow
garden lane
between hedges
and creeping vines
flaming
with a melting hue
and tumbling
ricocheted light,
as sun glitters
through a canopy
of leaves
and exploding buds,
life sprouting
with hairs
and feathers of flight
across
silver and cream air
and slow creep
on an umber
floor of sandy loam.
(iv)
In a world
of clucking claves
building
a fort for the hen's
chicks flowering
the garden floor
with gold,
a cruising gale
swoops down
the feet
of mother and chicks,
the hen
jumping up, as
she flaps
wings to carve out
space over her
home,
the heavy stone
of fear gripping her
like a crab,
when no hawk
has entered
the garden's widening
door through
tree branches
and narrow windows
of broken twigs.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem