17 November, 2006



The dewed cool of the morn and I,
with my fingernails
under the dirt, sowed them as children.

Months long have I exhaled small clouds,
whispers of water;
held the sun still to shine them.

And now.

Walk slow in the shade between
the rows and let them
bend yellow heads low, to kiss you.


LentenStuffe said...


I Loved this too, your Sunflower. It's so evocative and so simply rendered. You really have a great ear. I know I said this above, but you know exactly how to turn and end a line, you have great poetic instincts and your persona is always aloof enough to sustain the mystery of your telling.

The poetic situation is a great one as it images the journey of the flower through your life to address the more mature denoument. Your closing line draws the circle to, as if this was always the flower's purpose and you're just sitting back taking the credit now.

It's a very accomplished voice you have. Actually, there's a very sophisticated poetic intelligence at work here, which is somewhat beguiling because you come across as being somewhat flippant about your gift.

It's your Tone that captivates; it's never preachy or prosaic and is perfectly adapted to its purpose, or role, in your poems. I've told Artemesia about you and asked her to visit. She's got real genius, I think. If you don't already know her work from the PFray, then follow the link on my blog. You won't be disappointed.

twiffer said...

hey, i'm flippant about most things, dammit! [grin]

glad (again), you are enjoying. this one is actually one of my favorites, so it's always nice to have others enjoy it as well. i've popped over to artemesia's page and will peruse as time allows (having enough trouble keeping up with you, ya prolific bastard).