Droplet
Like a glass globe dangling
on the tip of a leaf
or a sparkling gem
on the lip of a purple orchid
that just tasted rain,
an ant or a bee looking into it
will discover their world within
miniaturized,
upside-down,
such fragility --
ever at the mercy of wind
and gravity
or a careless bird or beast;
a tremble or a shake
may cause it to fall
and break
if left alone, it evaporates.
(In part, inspired by my friend HVP's SoFoBoMo project "iDrops", a collection of photos taken using the iPhone.)
Submitted to The Poetry Pantry #63.
Sunday, August 21, 2011
Monday, August 15, 2011
To The Very End
Still a flower
The tree that once flaunted you
has decided to let you go,
spiral and twirl
a first and last dance,
descend
towards the heap
of skeletal leaves
and half chewed guavas
lying in compose.
A breeze comes to carry you away,
becomes bored
preferring to sustain
a circling hawk.
Finally you touch down,
face on the pavement:
pink and white petals curling
a little off the ground;
still a flower.
The tree that once flaunted you
has decided to let you go,
spiral and twirl
a first and last dance,
descend
towards the heap
of skeletal leaves
and half chewed guavas
lying in compose.
A breeze comes to carry you away,
becomes bored
preferring to sustain
a circling hawk.
Finally you touch down,
face on the pavement:
pink and white petals curling
a little off the ground;
still a flower.
Friday, August 5, 2011
Confessions of an internet junkie number... I've lost count.
***
Irrational
It does not take much to sit here
in front of this white space
staring at zeros and ones
that resemble letters and numbers.
It takes a certain amount of nerve
to speak to an unknown audience
of one, or millions (or none).
What does it matter,
that one response
or zero, that dreaded void
that you waste a few minutes
staring into,
trying to decide what it means.
***
Irrational
It does not take much to sit here
in front of this white space
staring at zeros and ones
that resemble letters and numbers.
It takes a certain amount of nerve
to speak to an unknown audience
of one, or millions (or none).
What does it matter,
that one response
or zero, that dreaded void
that you waste a few minutes
staring into,
trying to decide what it means.
***
Tuesday, August 2, 2011
Sky watching
A small plane in the sky
i will always look up
when i hear
the soft hum
of a small plane
as it flies far
above
over me
to see where
so small a thing
in so vast a blue expanse
i
even smaller
down here
can't help
but smile
as i squint to see
the craft
one man
arms wide
soaring
higher
than the birds.
(Inspired by HVP's photo "Looking Up" )
i will always look up
when i hear
the soft hum
of a small plane
as it flies far
above
over me
to see where
so small a thing
in so vast a blue expanse
i
even smaller
down here
can't help
but smile
as i squint to see
the craft
one man
arms wide
soaring
higher
than the birds.
(Inspired by HVP's photo "Looking Up" )
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