“Two Bees” Phone Photo DS
Years ago, I painted a large self-portrait of a girl standing in her back yard with argyle-style grass. She wore one of my favourite childhood dresses, white, smocked, with tiny turquoise, pink, violet, diamond shapes all over. In her hand she held a posy of sweet peas; her gift to the world. Perhaps these posts are like sweet peas, small, fragrant, pale pink and aubergine, with green leaves and swirls going upward to the light.
Then I came across the word, poiesis, the blooming of a blossom. These words from my experience and from others would convey the hope of blooming, even of planting seeds of hope to bloom later in this time of post pandemic. Yes, my poems are what I have to offer the world, the poieses (meaning: production, formation) of life collected here.
. . .
The One I Love
The one I love
Is a fast spider killer
Chops vegetables finely
Reads in bed nightly
Shovels snow brightly
Listens without interruption
Drives a Benz with no instruction
Gardens saying do I have to
Not too macho
He makes the bed
Bakes bee sting cakes
Wakes before dawn
Without putting the light on
Works for fun
Laughs when down
Wears a crown
For me.
Pink Bird Writing 