I am defeated by an ode to oxalis, with its
tangy, trefoil leaves.
Delicate daisies rampant in the lawn, defy
description and wild strawberries creep silently underfoot.
Will my muse be tempted by the fragrance of
mixed herbs; mint, rosemary, basil, lemon balm?
Is she loitering on a lofty treetop distracted
by the blue jays' chatter and the persistent pecking of the woodpecker?
Dear muse, don't judge me while you languish
out of sight leaving me awash in adjectives, free to mangle metaphors and
clutch at cliches.
I won't let your absence lead to despair.
In time you will return to guide me.
For now, I sit
quietly on this rock beside my stone inuksuk that keeps watch at the water’s
edge.
No need to hurry. I have company with the
lush birth of greening growth around me; the miracle of a world reborn after
winter's sleep.
And when you return, I'll be here, waiting.
First Prize Winner- Poetry in the Scugog Council for the Arts Ekphrastic Literary Contest 2021
has taken you from me
leaving me lost and lonely.
Together, forever, we said
not accounting for
the fickle wind of time
You did not deserve
the twisted fate that
has taken you from me.
Trying to hold onto memories
that fade and disappear
leaving me lost and lonely.
Featured in Mythos Poetry Society
Greetings your Majesty, Ruler of the Two Lands
Please accept these humble offerings
pots
of milk and beer to quench your thirst
a
feast of fowl that I netted in the marsh
and
fine incense to purify the air.
It is only you my Lord, the living
god
who
can intercede with the river god Hapi
to
ensure the seasons change in harmony and balance.
I implore my Lord, that you make the
river run high
during
the Season of the Inundation
to
fill the ponds and flood the fields.
Then in the Season of the Emergence
the
crops will flourish and be plentiful.
When you bless the Season of the Harvest
the
granaries will be filled to feed your people.
We need the Season of the Inundation to be strong, my Lord
for
while the fields are flooded, the people are free
to
labour at your tomb that rises majestically in the desert,
raising
its pinnacle to the mighty sun god Ra.
I beseech you, my Lord, to let the river run high
for
each season paves the way toward
your
celestial journey to the Underworld.
Your humble servant, Chief Steward
of the Granaries
Published in Mythos Poetry Society Literary Journal "TALES OF THE CHANGING SEASONS" October 2021.
To the memory of
Scott Collie. 1958-2021
