gently interrupted by velvet mountains
burnt sienna soil stretches through olive trees
that lift their limbs toward blue expanse
where pillowy clouds drift with ease

shadows lengthen as the sun spreads
a warmth perceptible to the view
energy and life pouring into ripening fruit
soon harvest gathering will be due

tracks of vehicles between the rows
show signs of tending that's been done
through summer's growing season
and years before when they were begun

saplings planted there with care
by tanned, robust yet gentle hands
have grown taller year by year
where now a stately orchard stands

Favorite word: “nymphet”, but no!
Halcyon, a kind of drug, you know.
Searching through the pages’ mist
And imagined deeds
Of poets’ needs…
I found my favourite word,
As asked,
Neither sacred nor profane
That describes the Venetian rain
In my beloved’s eyes
And the Florentine sun upon her hair:
“Auburn, russet, mythopoeic”.
Oh, it is not fair,
To liken an object
Of my lust and love
To anything as mortal as autumn air!
Nor “October’s orchard Haze”;
She had her own
Inscrutable, premeditated ways!
Rather let me say that she was perfect,
Though her eyes, pale and myopic,
Her shuffling gait and
Graceless limbs, to them Grace lends
Fey charm, the power to mend
My suffering and
Delusions of a poet’s end
As anything but pathetic,
(Her mother’s fondness for vague emetics)
And I left softly hanging,
On a girl’s new taste,
A tang of russet apples on her face,
But no, not that, the sum
Of my love, My Lo!
Then her bleak demise, partly by my hand
That none of you brutes could understand;
The pure love,
So sadly consummated,
Between a lover
And the one she hated
Yet loved once with inexplicable delight,
On one stolen, frightened night…
In which the two of us agreed
To satisfy a simple, yet maniacal need,
And then depart…
But I could not,
You see;
She was my life,
My love, my heart.

Humbert Humbert 1950

Sharon Talbot ca. 2005

A pine cone swept in the timber
in blow with wooden needles
that a lantern was the wiles of birch
along the frills of enlightened where spores till
this deadwood manufacturing transport
with a pipe cleaner's lore of trees
whether they intertwine on the carpet again
in loom to manifold in the soil.

But darling,
He feels lust and calls it love
Plants a tree and calls it an orchard
Breaks a heart and calls it art
Swears that he will stay
and calls it the truth...
When he leaves you,
Tsunamis of tears will crash over your body
Simultaneously streaming from your soul
in waves even greater than his ego...
He could never have truly loved you, darling...
*Not in the way that I do.

Over there I played and                                                                                           Over there I was raised ...                                                                                        That haunted palace was up-stairs and                                                                 My old school was down-stairs ...                                                                           I spent most of my childhood                                                                                  Over there happily and gladly ...                                                                            The green grass , the cactus , the orange trees ,                                                     Those egg-plants , these green and red peppers ,and                                            Those pretty camels were over there ...                                                                   The tin houses were installed for Those poor people who lived over there ...                                                         It was a long , long time ago , but                                                                      That Patos Orchard is no more over there                                                         Simply because they replaced with some                                                          Other buildings ...                                                                                                That Patos Orchard is only stored                                                                      In my mind ...                                                                                                       I am still alive to document it for those who know nothing it                          About it ...                                                                                                             The Patos Orchard is real and I am real ,but                                                     Now it's no more ..................... .                                                                          ___________________­__