Bruised

Our hearts are such tender vessels, aware

of what feeds, withers and morphs it into a swelling sea

to marvel at, to puzzle over, to praise. When the blue

sky is magnificently bruised by Autumn winds hastened

by the chill breath of distant December we cannot help

but toss a glance over our shoulder to the fleet foot

of Spring, the tap root of Summer

and back again to leaves that spin as they descend-

plum and concord , persimmon and pear, rhubarb

dandelion, lambs quarters and magnolia vine.

The giant oak litters the ground, confetti tossed

by the tip of a shoe and the pleasure that two feet

on the Earth can bring.

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About theminstrelscitadel

In search of courageous souls who aren't afraid to dig a little deeper and have a conversation about all manner of things. Rant, rave, debate, discuss... let's do it!
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2 Responses to Bruised

  1. Oloriel says:

    I love the notion of how sky is bruised by Autumn. A wonderfull piece of poetry!

  2. Hvala, Selena. <<You will forgive me, I hope… I am a lover of language, and using Google Translate to communicate with you in your native language, although I know not whether it is Slovenian, Serbo-Croatian or Macedonian. I hazarded a guess and picked Slovenian… My grandmother taught me how to count to 100 and miscellaneous words in Polish when I was a child. It gave me an appreciation for other languages and cultures. I can proudly say that I can now say "Kiss my ass" in three different languages, and perhaps with your help, I can make it four languages? 🙂 LOL

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