To all the roses
stressing this pruning season:
Don’t lose your head, bud.
—
– orha writes
To all the roses
stressing this pruning season:
Don’t lose your head, bud.
—
– orha writes
Settle a dispute
between me and that old horse
neighing my burdens.
—
– orha writes
The garden’s veggies
arranging themselves on plots
compose sheet music.
—
– orha writes
Daisies are bouncing
to imperceptible tunes
on the late spring wind.
—
– orha writes
Ice cubes are screaming
as they drown in lemon juice—
Summer horror night.
—
– orha writes
Sunset streaks the sky
an amber so brown the clouds
are toilet paper.
—
– orha writes
Reusable bags
clearanced in the summer sale
tumble in spring winds.
—
– orha writes
The salmon’s spring gift
is a scale on my forearm
of iron-hot oil.
—
– orha writes
The green is deeper
at the bottom of the pond
when my toes brush it.
—
– orha writes
The drip sprinklers hiss
briefly invokes in the yard
rattlesnake magic.
—
– orha writes