.
nature
.
.
Snapdragons
.
It bites hissing like
sacred snakes,
yet no sound,
only the sweet smell
of a gentile serpent,
the dangerous jaws
of purple petals
a smooth velveteen,
yet not scared, no fear,
no venomous
taste of death,
smooth jaws clamping
caught in a snapdragon.
.
.
The Lava Poem
.
I am overflowing, seeping out of my
chambers
then exploding
into a fountain of glowing orange-
polluting the air.
I run, a river of
destruction,
blanketing, destroying all
in sight.
Like magic, with one
touch I turn trees to skeletons.
I have bombarded forests,
turning them to dust.
I am inescapable,
dying out into an
eerily smooth sculpture-
chaos-
nature's newly paved road,
a silent reminder of the
calamity I have created.
.
.
Leaves
.
Leaves are falling off the trees,
bright orange construction workers,
little parachutists plummeting downward
that are
crying out to October.
.
What could it be?
Could the death of
Chlorophyll cause this beauty?
Ha! Chlorophyll doesn’t exist to me.
It is instead an army of onlookers
dressed in their orange vests,
warning the oblivious innocents-
screaming with vivid color
they are joyous, crumpled and celebrating,
letting the wind carry them to new
destinations.
.
The leaves crunch under my foot,
they laugh at my gesture.
“An era is over,” they are screaming,
“A new one is about to begin.”
I stop.
I peer below at the torn vest.
The parachutist is smiling, uninjured.
.
How could something dying be so beautiful?
.
.
.