Tag: poem

Wolverine Stew: First/Last Thawing

clydemg 1 Comment

As the days go on, I can see

Carpenter bees and painted ladies

Fly from one pale blossom to the next

As a chorus of frogs sound in the

Marshes I’m just now beginning to

Wander through

Seeking those new paths from

Picking a direction and wondering

How far I can go with a friend or two

Tulip sunsets blooming from patchwork city soil

And curated reminders of maize and blue

And I’ll go through graveyards and theatres, cafes and Kerrytown

One more arboretum trail, one more crafted carnival, one more night

Walking the same loop, tracking constellations in those

Spaces between lamps, singing together after the stage lights go dark,

Rolling dice and trying out new names

Enjoying that welcome that was always there

With the ones who gave it

Trying to take it in as the clouds start to clear

And it will hurt to miss it all

But that means there’s something worth missing

And I’m glad I get to celebrate it in the sun

Because I know both will be back soon enough

~Sappy Daze~ Day 9

Sappy Leave a comment 
I Bet Your Parents Made Love in a Bed 

of bright marigolds and cosmos. 
That would explain your innate 
stubbornness, like when you sprouted 
in May, too eager 

to grant your mother
the sweet poison of a lily 
of the valley, 
which is motherhood.

Although it’s not as beautiful as 
the red tulip she raised, I hope 
she likes the hydrangeas I gave. 

I’ve been wanting to gift more.

While their brilliant red still 
doesn’t compare to the adorable 
pink blooming on you, 

Look, the carnations we planted 
have beautifully bloomed. I’m 
determined to grow peonies with 
you, too. I’ve already decided that 

when I lie in my deathbed, nobody shall 
give me white lilies. Instead, they’ll 
give me poppies, for the wound you left 
when you left me: 

Its medicine will grant me peace in death, 
just like the peace your lavender gave me.

- Sappy

Wolverine Stew: Graveyard Eclipse

clydemg 1 Comment

I follow the path of quills and daffodils

Blue ground-facing stars and yellow suns

A spring soil night as the sky above

Turns dim, a growing grey

But a welcome one in place of

The gloom that has begun to break

And as I walk I see dozens of others

All with their glasses that turn the sun

Into a campfire crescent moon

Celebrating on every patch of grass

In the front lawns where

A cracked, plastic skeleton rests in a pile

I end up at the cemetery, fellow sky-gazers

Sitting amongst the headstones as

The trees begin to bud, robins rushing between them

Starry blue flowers sprouting beneath

As moss creeps across the polished names

And lichen-loved stones

Like faces and upturned mushrooms caps

And just in time I find a place

Where the branches part

Where I feel welcomed to sit beside the graves

Where the sounds of my eyelashes

Against the dark film that guards them

Sounds like rustling in the pinecones and dry leaves

And the chirp of birds reaches its crescendo

As that waning crescent almost gives way

Before waxing yet again

And I spend a few more moments

Planted in the grass

Before making my way out of the cemetery

I pick a direction, and on I go

Because as the sky brightens

There’s so many

White-winged moths, wolf spiders, cranes, colonies of ants

To spot along the path

And I hope to see them all

Before this day ends

~Sappy Daze~ Day 8

Sappy Leave a comment

This poem was selected for PoetTreeTown2023

I know I’m indecisive, but I think I know how I feel.

I feel just a little confused, but I know how I feel, I think.

I think I feel too much, I know.

This is just how I am.

I am, I believe, how I like.

I feel like I think I know I am how I like, I believe.

- Sappy