Tuesday, January 01, 2008

Circumvolve

Again They Die


Yet another year passes
by, and the flowers die
again . . . again . . . again they die!

Cold rain cries cold color from their eyes
And again . . . again . . . again they die!

The land: white. Lifeless.
A few cardinals
feasting
on dead roses.

Striking red poses against a snowy backdrop.
And again . . . again . . . again they die.

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posted by Sir James Eric Watkins at 8:45 PM 2 comments

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    And the iguanas dance in the desert/a thousand miles away from this place/and this face: stoned immaculate.

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    "Let us remember . . . that in the end we go to poetry for one reason, so that we might more fully inhabit our lives and the world in which we live them, and that if we more fully inhabit these things, we might be less apt to destroy both." Christian Wiman, Editor of "POETRY" "Hang on to your hopes my friend; That's an easy thing to say, but if your hopes should pass away, simply pretend that you can build them again." ~ Paul Simon

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