Someone has found my secret place
and raided the Impatiens Parviflora.
Its pods,
translucent green
with ripeness,
the joyful pregnant bombs
of resurrection –
all spent.
I button up my coat.
The winter will be cold.
February 21, 2013
Touch-me-not
By hjs
This entry was posted on Thursday, February 21st, 2013 at 7:00 pm and tagged with poems and posted in All poems, Life_the Universe_and ..., Moments. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed.
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- Marking Jack’s tree
- The train ride
- Walking home
- The blender
- Durschlegi, Amden
- Maintenance work
- Cadair Idris
- Rattray Head
- Topsell’s Beasts revisited
- Earth Rising
- Mantua
- Carrying Jack
- Tourists
- My Acceptance Speech
- A Balance
- Map reading at 60
- My Covid-19 Song
- Jack at sixteen
- New Year’s Day
- Llanthony
- Patrishow
- Sunday morning at the canal
- Lunatics
- Too late
- The Master of Sleep
- Writing
- Late January
- Snow on the sidewalk
- Cat. Field. Morning. Midday. Dusk
- Migration
- Triumphs of Design
- Monteraponi
- Infinity Pool
- Old dog, dreamhunting
- Thaw
- Operating instructions
- Chickentime
- Recipe for happiness
- On Washington Crossing the Delaware
- Ellis Island
- Walking on Thin Air
- John Brown in the Met
- Wheelchair access
- New York Scenes
- Party
- Salisbury Cathedral
- A lesson from the DSLR workshop
- Too steep
- Footwear
- Paper thin
- Newfoundland I
- Newfoundland II
- El Horcajo
- Cotswold Graveyard
- Uisge
- Grizzly bears and other surprises
- The View
- In the Still of the Night
- November Recipe
- Yellowstone
- Transcendence in the RV Park
- Burqa
- Collioure
- Prague awakening
- Love story, Midwest
- Birds of the early morning
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