Friday Poetry 8.2.13

As if on the wind
As if from a kiss
I smell the perfected seedling
I sense great harvest
Yes, it is coming, that time of year

The death of a seed
Is not for mourning
The coming fruit shows us
Seeds die for the turning
Yes, it is coming, that time of year

The music of change
The joy of root taken
Through groundbreaking growth pain
For sickle and staking
Yes, it is coming, that time of year

Call it a journey
Or perhaps a process
Life through morbid shift
Such metamorphosis
Yes, it is coming, that time of year

The cycle is certain
Of death breeding life
Skulls are not the stopping point
But a stanza in rhyme
Yes, it is coming, that time of year

The turn of phrase
From Summer to Fall
To glean what was planted
Great reward from seed small
Yes, it is indeed coming, that time of year

Worlds
There are so many different worlds around
I see how I am or am not a part
Each group, each grouping
It’s amazing, our microcosms
Sometimes I just like standing from the outer atmosphere
Looking in
An alien
The world of the traveler at the airport
His uniform
Her gear
The world of the small town family
Her peace
His release
The world of the… insert your own
SO many worlds
All around us
So many different worlds
Like jewels
Like joys
So many worlds around

Yours Truly, Summer 2011