She’s eaten the starvation
Nutrient.
I dug in…grasping the flesh.
The fruit of the vine compensates for the losses of the Spring.
The soil’d encapsulated my fingernails…
& the plant grew from starved earth, my cuts were like root hairs.
Just like the oiled vegetation I’d braised with flavours & baked,
the porousity saturated the essence in radiant heat.
Sporadically
I picked the wild berries & enjoyed the taste.
I topped them w/a crumble of rolled oats, black walnuts &almonds, toasted.
The combination made me reflect the comeraderie of the picnic-
the juices meld together, the vital essence gummed into being.
New zygotic plumage.
The culture of the earth we live in harvesting what we get.
If the thievery is halted, the entrails of the huntress shall be spilled in defense
when doe season’s upon us.
The foliage falls. Snowflakes on the lawn.
Her spirit is voracious
I dig in.
…the bowstring In hand, my reflection is an arrow.
~
PoetJoe H Gallagher, 2012
Nutrient.
I dug in…grasping the flesh.
The fruit of the vine compensates for the losses of the Spring.
The soil’d encapsulated my fingernails…
& the plant grew from starved earth, my cuts were like root hairs.
Just like the oiled vegetation I’d braised with flavours & baked,
the porousity saturated the essence in radiant heat.
Sporadically
I picked the wild berries & enjoyed the taste.
I topped them w/a crumble of rolled oats, black walnuts &almonds, toasted.
The combination made me reflect the comeraderie of the picnic-
the juices meld together, the vital essence gummed into being.
New zygotic plumage.
The culture of the earth we live in harvesting what we get.
If the thievery is halted, the entrails of the huntress shall be spilled in defense
when doe season’s upon us.
The foliage falls. Snowflakes on the lawn.
Her spirit is voracious
I dig in.
…the bowstring In hand, my reflection is an arrow.
~
PoetJoe H Gallagher, 2012
