The Innisfree Poetry Journal www.innisfreepoetry.org by Roger Pfingston
Lotus Pond
Time and weather,
most surely frogs and turtles, even what the stars allow— nocturnal search and hunger the equal of diurnal— all, in their natural ways,
have ripped a new face for the lotus pad, October mask staring back at anyone who cares to stop, perhaps beside the campus clock reflected Dali-like, this pond’s bloom undone though echoing still, alive and well with its syncopated pleasure of croak and plop. Snow Bread In the half dark of dawn we wake
to slanted loaves of rooftops, the rounded loaf of mailbox, beneath the windows failed loaves of evergreens, massive car-top loaves, long baguettes of deck railing, tiny loaves atop the birdfeeders, the neat, small loaves of garden bricks, misshapen loaves of limestone discards, chain-held loaves of swing-set seats, sheet-pan loaf of picnic table, sandbox, that square loaf, below the front door, stair- step loaves, four in all, sunrise pouring a buttery glaze. Copyright 2006-2012 by Cook Communication |