white petals becoming green leaves
wet february
cairn of sticks
atop storm drain
opossum teeth
purple ditch flowers
a golf cart sputters
#todayspoem
black coffee at sunup
green tea in the afternoon
red wine at sundown
red bloom
against road gray sky
a woolen quiet
#todayspoem
from Opera Singer by Ross Gay:
I will be slogging through the obscure country of my sadness
in all its monotone flourish, and so imagine my surprise
…
two bluebirds dive and dart and a rogue mulberry branch
leaning over an abandoned lot drags itself across my face,
staining it purple and looking, now, like a mad warrior of glee
…
let me stop here and tell you I said thank you.
sign about signs
next to
sign about stopping
#todayspoem
A New National Anthem by Ada Limón 🔊
fallen tree still blooming
#todayspoem
from Even the walls by Rob Manery:
everything falls
even the walls
eventually, sooner
perhaps
birds singing the sun up
//
birds singing sunrise
#todayspoem
by Kenji Minamigawa:
Of course, plants don’t have eyes, right? And yet they bloom with such colorful flowers. To put it really simply, this is a result of their getting information from butterflies: “Hey, you look sweet!” and things like that. So in a way, plants see the world through butterflies' eyes.
invaders blooming amongst the natives
#todayspoem
from Comfort by Lionel Kearns:
Warm honey percolates through empty worm holes in the mind.
at the curb
$5 bill
weeds
flowers bloom sinuses
#todayspoem
Biopsy by Laura Villareal
A tiny rabbit nested
in the window
my oral surgeon cut open.
He expected an ABC,
aneurysmal bone cyst,
but removed a brown rabbit instead.
They wrap my head and eyes
in a falcon hood
so I can see
my own rattling interior. The long high whistle
heightens. Sea water and blood. Bafflement
textures the air like a chorus as I’m scraped.
During surgery, my doctor finds nothing
except bone
so thin it appears void
& object on the x-ray.
As I’m stitched closed,
I hear: over, under, around, and through
meet Mr. Bunny Rabbit, pull tight and true.
A long thread falls from my mouth
& I pull. A bad habit,
pulling loose strings when I shouldn’t.
I unravel from mouth
down to my feet.
Spring Invading
brown box
of brown boxes
boxing in
Spring Invading
leafless tree
filled with birdsong
distant chainsaw
Spring Invading
asphalt bedded stream of rainbows
