Beetlebung and Kettlehole--April Poems

Around Me

Nothing is original, I find; still,
the trick is in the twisting, flailing,
failing, authentic pain, and bravery.
I want the scents to find voice and
the touch to taste sweet.
Can you create art like that?
I don’t know, but I watch for signs
like a novice monk for illumination.
I look east and west, and I look past
our hang-ups, across the emptiness,
for new growth. Still I see
traps, body bags, the damage we leave,
false badges in preening shows,
flares in the air pointing to nowhere.
Yet, I want, around me,
hatchlings roaming free
on green grass, floating in dreams,
the fragrance of flowers in solitude,
and bees bringing us honey,
and I want to wrap our world
in pink cotton candy.