Miraquill
Budding the Blossoms
Silent humming, alone in vernal self.
Floral vibrations shudder on in planetary consciousnes of temporal living health.
Budding the blossoms, resonating in unison.
One more chance at life for us this season.
Snow is melted, only nothingness lasts.
Heaven is my orchid, "Whitman" had Grass.
Like dust our pollen, ashes soon blow; till one long last winter. When nothing again; returns to grow.
©kevinosullivan
#springahead
2 posts-
kevinosullivan
220w
Read More#apprenticepoet #poetwannab #darktriadpoetry #whalingcitypoetry #publisheditburn #springhassprug #nothinggoldcanstay #vernal #springahead #nuclearwinter #literarytherapy #darktriadpoetry #shantysociety #nbma
"Whitman had Grass." Partially Inspired reference to Walt Whitman and his Leaves of Grass title.8 0
kevinosullivan
223w
Flowing
Its March 14th in the Whaling City, 40° and sunny at 4pm. A foot of snow meltwater flows down to the harbor. As Springs first day but a week away, I embrace the vernal change. Like a hibernating Black Bear, once caged inside by drifts of cold, white and dark. Surrounded by artists and crime, illegal seafood, drugs and grime; I think of Marfa, Texas. I dream of the warm sun as they sure must often dream of wet cool rain. What an artistic installation it would be to build a pipeline to West Texas. An exchange of excess commodities from one art haven to another. Our surplus of snow and rain flowing south for a thousand plus miles to contribute to an art oasis in the desert. We now transfer toxic oil to soon pollute aquifers, contributing only to our extinction. Perhaps one day we will need to pipe drinking water or oxygen to breathe too. Perhaps my grandkids will be less critical, cynical and gullible. Perhaps when enough is enough and our acid filled oceans have risen 30 feet. Massachusetts a brownfield, without precipitation awaiting earths cleansing ice age.
©kevinosullivan