Dead Flowers

Dead Flowers
 

He carried me to the place of dead flowers

Where I spent my water for liquid gold

He tickled my clitoris with humming bird hands

I tasted curiosity; smell satiated me

Is that my worth, only dead flowers?

© Joy Leftow 1996

Vacation Time

Catskills Cabin Getaway

Babbling brook behind my cabin 

Birds chirp, picking dirt with beaks

A red-breasted robin alights on the ground

Water rushes over stones

Babbling a lost language

Sun shines like diamonds 

Bubbling over running brook

I pick my city head

Strive to reduce daily strain, din

Fallen trees and boughs

Set together like someone put them

Tried to slow the brooks flow,

Make the water flow go slow 

Maybe Sandy threw trees there,

Two years ago

Hear the water roll

Constant sound all around

Creek Sparkles in sun and night

In rain, creek sparkles too

See water fill creek

Hope that Sandy won’t come visit

Again, show her other cheek

Return to the present, beauty surrounds me

Wonder if we can witness beauty with no fear