Monday, April 25, 2011

Bleak. What is bleak poetry?

Meager poetry? At the hand of a bleak poet?
With lush Spring (petunias and iris, particularly bearded) it's a stretch to the bleak.


The same with food. Verdant green asparagus and blood oranges still at the market. Strawberries which fulfill a mouth's expectation. Yes, today, buy more.

1 comment:

  1. old basket of fondness
    sitting there on the bench
    unaware of wolves and wenches
    behind the iron fence

    who sits by the basket and sings?

    & who does not hear the song
    and the blast of treachery
    trying so hard to take first place?

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