Poetic Offering


from 31 Poems for 31 Days

Night shattered
by the noise of the first
two bare twigs counting out
the time of the breathing

Apples, the last and first
of the season,
the taste of that last
bee-buzzed cider.

All that isn't
begins to come together
the promises of vacant days
thee abandonment of beach umbrellas

Ask where and who and why
and kick the leaves as
they die and fall and float
and drift and fill
the fields and choke the
streets with color.

I have seen the birds
fail. I do not hear
the chirp of frogs
and I know I am not home.

Turn me around and I am the end,
Read me as I am and I am the end.
Mute, imperfect, and prime as my mirror.

Full fire the color flashes
destroying all illusion
of lingering summer
the illness has come upon
the year

Clap hands, dance
and sound the tambourine,
sing your voice back
into its birth,
join in making all things new
by coming to birth

© 2002 Steven Riddle

You can see that the punctuation is still crude and the definition of some of the days not quite there--but I had dismissed this handful of trivia some time ago and was surprised at how fresh it seemed this morning.

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This page contains a single entry by Steven Riddle published on March 13, 2003 10:58 AM.

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