#pallor
Morning pallor on a grey day
not a five cent shine
to the sun.
Bitumen hissed all night
trees tossed and tangoed
shuddered and split.
Navy clouds, blue with rain
surfed in from the ocean
racing on the wild wind
learning to scream.
The stones listened
moon listed and tried to find
a space in the cloud-tide rush
to quiet-light the gloom.
Morning Armistice on a pale grey day
of debris and displacement
refugees and leaf litter
surrender and detachment
silent and still
only a five cent shine to the sun
© M.L.Emmett
Aug 1, 2014
Aug 1, 2014 at 1:33 PM UTC
no plea here tendered,
long time are we past
the boundary of cooling
cooing brotherly tenderness
reason has been Joseph sold into slavery,
nary a Moses, who talks to God, is answered,
be seen or heard, to reconcile the divisive souls
of our fratricidal words
a morning’s reflection,
soon to be gone, passing,
of two pockmarked differing clouds,
scratching this morning blue drenched sky
a white, rotund cumulus rose,
one gray, rough, tumbled, worn,
ill tempered, of rain possessed,
but both clouds, each purposed
but this Sabbath day,
as this pale land reopens,
to bitter cries, minor rejoicing,
wise counsel, foundering, ignorance prevailing
forbearance, a weighty silence, circumscribed,
daytime highlights, disregarded, heads closed,
nowhere to found, just, a colorless pallor, a rasher
of fratricidal words
May 16, 2020
May 16, 2020 at 11:02 AM UTC