blackberry garden

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eighteen sweetly singing doves
in the soft night air
fly serenely, float above
all that passes there.

snarled history conspires
under brambles' hood,
lights a torch and builds its fires
'mongst the loamy roots.

passions tangle into briars'
sweet and dripping fruit,
prickles from the thorns are liars,
berries hide real hurt.

still the songs are soothing, still
sweetly indifferent.

reaching up for light and rain,
sprouts raise tender threads;
when the gardener stalks again,
weeds will lose their heads.

still the doves are singing, singing,
singing in the sky,
and still the blackberry bush spreads--
it will cover the world.





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mattyz said...
Jun. 10, 2010 at 9:18 am
This is a beautiful poem. I stumbled onto your blog because of a well answered question you layed out among a slew of other people's failed attempts to grasp the question at the same depth. I was intrigued enough to take a look at your writing. Truly, I think it's excellent. I'm a writer in my early 30's and I rarely see something on the interwebspace that catches my eye. I think the images your  poem elicits adds beautifully to the powerful narrative thread of earth and relationship. Keep ... (more »)
 
Theresa S. said...
Apr. 17, 2009 at 11:57 pm
This one is my second favorite.
 
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