Day 11

For today’s prompt, pick a season (any season) and make it the title of your poem; then, write your poem. For instance, your poem might be titled “Winter” or “Spring” or “Rabbit Season” (if you have a sense of humor and like Looney Tunes cartoons).

Pomegranate Season

The first - one cracks open with great hope
as it has arrived - the season -
To find the seeds located where they should be
white and numerous
pointless
thin in all things

They don't know themselves

Soon they have done their time
their little seeds are little rubies
and their taste
near

I used to stand on the studio balcony
above the traffic.  Later I sat
Later I sat inside
letting time stitch me more
into the burgundy background 
of my story
-part of the tapestry rolled up against the wall
turned on itself and weighty
with beauty and history
all intricacy
fulllness
all fullness

Then sometimes it happens
the not-too-big big one you bring home and 
cut and it bleeds
all over your counter
into the grout and down
the face of the cabinets

So that every thousandth part
is true
is full

The wrinkled outer skin has little bearing
The juice is the thing
Sweet and seedy
and filling the mouth
The season of the fullest self
The spilling forth
The giving
The staining of
the pouring forth
Just what happens
when the fruit is opened
treasure box
at the right time.

Day 10

Okay; we’re somehow already a third of the way through April. How did that happen?

Today’s “Two-for-Tuesday” prompts are:

1. Write a Forest poem.
2. Write a Tree poem.

Why such a need
when words want and bore
to wander through a foggy avenue
of towering living things,
living things
through sun and fog and dark and light
and wind and rain and fires and centuries
otherwise undelimited
- if lucky-
by stories and effects of men

A more pure aging
with the turning earth
than our fretful measurements
and needs of the unmet
and dryish roots and folded arms
and mouths full of anecdotes
that aim to please
and don't too much.

The high owl alighting.

Humbling avenue
with no need of my ego
nor response to it
but height and green
through sun and fog and dark and light.
Release into a dialogue of scale
Dimension of height and time
and green

Simply enduring
Leafy conversation.
The owl detaches from the canopy
and ends a phrase that stirs me and starts
just then,
another.