Sunday, May 15, 2016

Immersed again in misty gray

Such joy, after a stretch of warm, dry days,
to be immersed again in misty gray.

Miracle within miracle,
raindrops on rose leaves.

And here am I, a world inside
the one suspended foremost,
as earth and rainbow both,
as mountain neath her veil,
as scattered seed and poppies’ moan,
as child’s shout.

How good, now,
to be in a tiny vase upon your windowsill,
looking out with bubbles clinging to my stem.

How good, to wake up back in bed
beside a loved one’s grave,
ripe with meaning,
without end.


Gary B. Fitzgerald said...

Unmoving rose inside a teacup
filled with water
bathing in the sun on the windowsill,
(you know, but you won’t
tell me)
just lying there like you were
paralyzed, staring out the
window at the children.

Copyright 2005 – Evolving: Poems 1965-2005, Gary B. Fitzgerald

William Michaelian said...


Gary B. Fitzgerald said...

Apparently, thinking minds are likely great.

(wait...did I get that right?)

William Michaelian said...

Let’s imagine someone foolish enough to say no, and then pity him.