Shrinking I am, walls closing in on me
head in a vise. Eight by ten, five by
seven, four by six, wallet size. A
postage stamp stuck on some
old godforsaken envelope
thrown out. Unneeded,
Your old cameo. I’m
a person with pain.
To you, nothing.
Disappearing.
I am a void.
Am alone.
Am I a
not I
am
Ø
Uncategorized
Wilting
my heart knows your eyes
blue iris sway in dry breeze
wilting like your love
…..and He Shall Invite You
Take this path with me,
and your reward shall be light.
Tread gently each day.
Believe in love and goodness,
and you shall have both in kind.
Written in Tanka form: syllabic lines of 5-7-5-7-7
Denali
Oh mighty one, elusive to so many.
Natives call you Denali,
befitting your magnificence.
You rule acres in the millions
set aside to protect your subjects,
God’s wildlife who coexist
and search the grounds for their sustenance.
Your spirit, whether seen or unseen
infuses them with the grace of nature.
We are humbled by your presence.
For the Love of Maize
Pull down pale green husks
some easily, others with a yank
discover soft fine silken hair,
gossamer strands cling to yellow gems
kernels of sweetness
in perfect rows of delicious.
Assaulted by bubbling water
slathered in butter
ear by ear, cob by cob
they succumb to energetic chomping
sacrificial sustenance
for the Summer Devourer.
lillian the home poet 