March 5, 2012

poem 67 of a poem a day for 2012

tidal spawn Ostara

each turn 
of the wheel
in the trees
is another 
ripe with the warm 
viscous flow
what we know
when we all come to  
a boiled on through
the maple sap 
that's running capped 
this early odd
bucket collect of
each drip spill pattern
we read with what 
the Sun has dissected
like leaves in empty cups
each time we climb
the dissipated bleeds
of early March 

those nights 
wearing the tines 
wearing the needs
we cling to with hope 
all Winter in the reeds 
like eggs and their
bright colored escapes 
all the same blisses
as teapot nestled hisses
and the trestle stopped
depot sounds in the dark

we lean against the 
freight whistles
and the windows 
for the wilderness 
again to be inside
where our prayers
chant for Love
to be what every
tomorrow sows
into our bones

EJR (c)


  1. nice writing, i like your poetry a lot.

  2. I really appreciate's rewarding to hear as such...brightest blessings...Edward.