Thank you to Mark Antony Rossi of Ariel Chart for publishing my poem in the October issue.

https://www.arielchart.com/2023/10/the-forest-of-pain.html

The Forest of Pain

 

 

A wooded site,

once begun with a distinctive aesthetic

of beauty and splendor.

 

Within this forest, 

who made the first heartbreak?

 

Bringing forth

all kinds and degrees

of crying conditions,

 

Forming

logs into shapes

smoothly surfaced by tears.

 

Viewed from any angle,

a design now degraded.

 

A relentless struggle fought.

It’s hard to discreetly walk out.

And the hills and groves 

offer no aid

against demons and heartaches left

among the trees.

 

NOW PUBLISHED ON KINDLE!  PAPERBACK LINK IS TO THE RIGHT (DIFFERENT COVER)

 

WELCOME TO AUTUMN

Apples

The orchard photos remind me.

Apples,

pictures of trees bearing apples,

apples as crisp as the fresh chill air

that surrounds them while they dangle.

From my grandmother's kitchen

was produced a hallmark of autumn,

a standard pulled from ovens

and set on windowsills to cool,

a treat made with the utmost care and love.

Apples,

unfastened from trees by my grandmother's hand

became something quite grand,

when plucked and tucked within the confines

of pie pans embossed with beautiful designs.

Apples, 

released from twirling peels, sliced and laid flat

with cinnamon sugar filling poured over them,

thumb-pressed edges confining the treasure within

until that first forkful.

Within the time of falling leaves and desiccation,

what magic lay within those crunchy balls

so that always the juices would run around

that heated pie plate and your mouth?

Only one thing more

transformed these rich shades of autumn harvest

into the finest culinary creation,

melty whipped cream swirling among

flecks and flakes of crust and fruit.

Apples,

whenever autumn rolls around,

I smell and taste and remember.

 

Thank you to Mark Antony Rossi of Ariel Chart for publishing this poem in the September issue.

https://www.arielchart.com/2023/09/what-shades-are-our-fields.html

What Shades Are Our Fields?

 

 

A stereo shock of ruffians,

taking advantage of discontent,

inciting jealousy.  

A person in debt,

tendering a notable beg.

Green stands unsophisticated

for these characters.

 

The meddlesome slither

through grass,

of an emerald serpent

as light green lizards run for safety.

Within these same forests are

needy new shoots under a green cheese moon,

ribbed plants 

offering lively camouflage

abutting dirt paths.

A medley of foliage resting on the ground,

each leaf that fails to hold onto the tree

is carrying eternity within it.

 

As sure as God made little green apples,

our grassy fates on each side of the fence

tell us how seasoned we are.