At home
my aimless mind
writes poemless lines.
Homeless under
trees or sky,
my lines take aim
to fly.

Friday, July 4, 2014

Of the Beetle

In belled depths of that blue blossom
petite vermilion beetle spotted black
bears the burden of the blessed pollen's
verdant promise on his dainty back.

Down straight stalks and up again
from bell to bell he makes his way
and sweetly sleeps inside a flower
at the closing of each day.

Blossoms pay him with their nurture.
By petals from the spiders hidden
he conjures flowers of the future
where by nectar he is bidden.

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