"chokecherry" poems - Hello Poetry

Outside, but not so far away, Missiles are falling; Early snow has settled Beneath gray overcast.... Sirens in the distance Send their low moan Across the miles... Echo faintly in our canyon. Too cold for lightning, We turn away from light Flickering or flashing Upon the bellied skies... Don't want to think About the thundering The light implies. Muffled sound and muted light Confirm our living Away from town. Perhaps we are Far enough.... These days, though, Places to run are few, And war is moving out. At least the news has stopped.... Was sporadic Then... Stopped altogether Now. Almost a relief.... The coal oil lamp - Her mother's mother's - Burns a reddish glow... Diesel's charring smudge... Comforts us In a growing dark. Roast potatoes, Rabbit stew, Pickled beets... No bread this time As I uncork chokecherry wine... And it is summer 1999.... We are standing in tall grass Somewhere between Red Lodge And Laurel along the road, Ice cream pails echoing With plopping chokecherries Near black and hanging thick Like miniature clusters of grapes. We are there to beat the birds and bears, Knowing choke-cherrying Is the hurried work of many races, Some wearing claws upon their heavy hands, Others flitting in with beaks upon their faces. And then the kitchen smells of cherries boiling down For syrups and for jam, The old ten gallon glass fermenting juice and sugar, Stands waiting in the corner, Later to be filtered off and corked away In twice-used bottles.... Other years and other picking times Lie bottled in wooden racks below, But we have chokecherry wine tonight, While storms we never thought we'd know Blow hard against the world.

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Jul 19, 2014

Jul 19, 2014 at 7:08 AM UTC

don-bouchard

Chokecherry Wine

Outside, but not so far away, Missiles are falling; Early snow has settled Beneath gray overcast.... Sirens in the distance Send their low moan Across the miles... Echo faintly in our canyon. Too cold for lightning, We turn away from light Flickering or flashing Upon the bellied skies... Don't want to think About the thundering The light implies. Muffled sound and muted light Confirm our living Away from town. Perhaps we are Far enough.... These days, though, Places to run are few, And war is moving out. At least the news has stopped.... Was sporadic Then... Stopped altogether Now. Almost a relief.... The coal oil lamp - Her mother's mother's - Burns a reddish glow... Diesel's charring smudge... Comforts us In a growing dark. Roast potatoes, Rabbit stew, Pickled beets... No bread this time As I uncork chokecherry wine... And it is summer 1999.... We are standing in tall grass Somewhere between Red Lodge And Laurel along the road, Ice cream pails echoing With plopping chokecherries Near black and hanging thick Like miniature clusters of grapes. We are there to beat the birds and bears, Knowing choke-cherrying Is the hurried work of many races, Some wearing claws upon their heavy hands, Others flitting in with beaks upon their faces. And then the kitchen smells of cherries boiling down For syrups and for jam, The old ten gallon glass fermenting juice and sugar, Stands waiting in the corner, Later to be filtered off and corked away In twice-used bottles.... Other years and other picking times Lie bottled in wooden racks below, But we have chokecherry wine tonight, While storms we never thought we'd know Blow hard against the world.

64

I find G o d in the dust up against chokecherry trees by the river, when i talk to him s u n l i g h t brushes up my thighs or f i n d s me through the leaves encased in honeycomb encased in honeycomb.

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Apr 29, 2015

Apr 29, 2015 at 5:29 PM UTC

broooke

In the Chokecherry Trees.

I find G o d in the dust up against chokecherry trees by the river, when i talk to him s u n l i g h t brushes up my thighs or f i n d s me through the leaves encased in honeycomb encased in honeycomb.

16

You; That sweet, barbed tree, Marring my back. I still check the mirror, See you, And remember. Our roots are still tangled, I still remember our Summer and autumn But it was nothing Compared to what Winter gave us, Gave me. Your leaves: Forever home on my branch, Immune to the wind’s plead, Unique, Deadly. No velvet for comfort, Only rebuked manure; No pruning for growth, Only determination; No escape, We will be one. Me; Never alone, Never the same, Never the same shades But, Standing Tall.

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Jun 11, 2018

Jun 11, 2018 at 8:48 AM UTC

dwheat

My Chokecherry

You; That sweet, barbed tree, Marring my back. I still check the mirror, See you, And remember. Our roots are still tangled, I still remember our Summer and autumn But it was nothing Compared to what Winter gave us, Gave me. Your leaves: Forever home on my branch, Immune to the wind’s plead, Unique, Deadly. No velvet for comfort, Only rebuked manure; No pruning for growth, Only determination; No escape, We will be one. Me; Never alone, Never the same, Never the same shades But, Standing Tall.

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