An orange is
Trying to talk.
It has been
Many places.
It has been
Many things.
From a seed at birth
It burgeoned forth,
Sprouting a sense
Of leaves and
Until it be a tree,
So plucketh I a fruit
From thee.
Then, peel apart the rind
And it, the yield,
Reminds it hath
Appealed dissertation.
Why now, the orange,
So ripe at hand?
I’d rather scratch
Apart your sleeves
And ingest your
Aromatic zest
‘Lest you were’t
To demand
A conversation
Between a man,
I’d listen yet
For thou hast been
More places
Than I have seen.
Though here you are
In my hands, a’gird.
You try to speak,
But understand,
my sweet–
I wish to slip
Your conference
And eat your words.


Outside the window

I became dismayed
As it began to rain
For the day grew dark
And the empyrean wept.
The trees looked upon me
And wondered why
Sat I depressed
With such lessed feelings
Of a gift so blessed
To fall lovingly
From the heavens.

Two Roads

Forest Trail by Jon Sullivan at http://www.public-domain-image.com

Two roads you see
Converge in thee;
A wiser road of humble wear
Smiled upon the young and fair
Path of passing free.

One it seemed
Had many leaves
And different names,
Yet end the same
As far as one could see.

Time turned gray
The path of age
Where rosy thistle
Willfully tickled
A drifter on his way.

And time doth play
The roads this way.
So purposed to assemble
And bounded to resemble
An adage left to cache.

What are we at this hour?
A father and his flower.
Like a blossom to the vine,
You live for thee and thine
To be this path of ours.

Poem was chosen for Open Link Night #84 at DversePoets.com.  Written a few years back.  Was thinking heavily upon my father and his influence in my life.  The two roads are separate physically, yet impact one another and the forest around it.  Many people walk with us along our life journey.  This poem is an ode to my father and the life we’ve walked together and apart; we are made of the same forest.

The Smile

Oh, the curl of her lips,
A subtle consonance eclipsed
Across the complexion of
Her mouth in passage
Shifts proportion set in drifting sway

Wavering to greet a glance
In a delicate dance
Of simpering play.

And stay would I
In this moment of late
Ere it a dream or reverie,
But alas, a simple instance
Of departing straits,
Ebb from encountering
Your smile again.

On Fear

Man dreads death
Above all things,
Perhaps, a certain
Fright of failure.
Or of nightly terrors
When the darkness close,
And those beleaguered odds;
The towers of adversity.
Of plundering thieves,
Or lovers asunder.
A man of malady
Deliberating a life ever-after.
One assurance
I know be true,
I fear’st all words
Never spoken (to you).

I wrote this poem for #83 OpenLinkNight at DVersePoets.  It’s been a while since I have regularly posted to this blog.  Cheers to new beginnings!  Perhaps remark upon your fear–how you have confronted it, and what you have done to overcome it.  My latest fear has been of writing, doing.  It sounds silly, but as time has elapsed from the poetry I wrote in my journals in 2003-2006, ultimately included in the most recent book of mine, Mimesis, I have been more reluctant, or rather, fearful, of writing.  Engaging myself with poets and authors and persons of artistic inspiration has helped me to overcome this fear and to write more!  I’ve also identified periods of prolific writing in my life has come from times of increased journal writing.  Both of these combined will lead to fruitful verse!

Update:  Long time friend, Obinna Mbah, reads this poem on Soundcloud.  Have a listen!


"Monument In Argentina" by Fran Hogan, from http://www.publicdomainpictures.net/view-image.php?image=9960&picture=monument-in-argentina

Picture by Fran Hogan (source)

When man had become
Immortal, he ceased to build
Monuments for man.