I’m closing out April and National Poetry Month with two original poems. “Time” a subject that’s fluidity seems surreal to me, yet our days are marked by numbers stamped on the dial. Also, “Hymn of Praise,” an old poem written when children ran my roost.
I hope you enjoy. Next week I’ll share more original fiction.
Time
Time illusive
like morning fog
lays hazy, still –
a dense white lie.
Time flies
wings like eagles,
baby burbs
tomorrow’s photo.
Time immortal
Elysian corn
crop circles
knee high by July.
Time stamped
wrinkled faces
through the mirror
darkly, seen.
Time marches
minutes to hours
dated headstones
genetic sunsets.
Hymn of Praise
Sun ripened days
Bloom with thunderheads
Ozonous breezes
Spill over the top
Niagara falls
From the roof drops
Under the eves
my sanctuary.
A porch swing
Sways to the beat
A melody creaking
for the percussion
Flowers and grasses
Stand in offertory
Drinking the gift
After the toast
Children’s laughter
Mud toes oozing
Squeal and splash
A hymn of praise
I’ve really been enjoying your poetry.
Thanks, Daph. It really takes guts to publish poetry. It’s so subjective.
Very nice, Chris.
Thank you, Linda!