NaPoWriMo: Flowers & Fears

Still playing catch-up, writing about flowers and fears, childhood and its end … loving the way our minds work so differently, our pens produce such variety.  Fears aside,  I love most that life depends upon diversity.

 

pansy

 

noble purple

sun yellow

petal-frilled manes

form delicate dangerous

tiny fierce faces

speaking tongues

fathomed by fairy folk

and children

whose prescient ears

dull rapidly with age

permitting only poignant

(((echoings)))

to haunt maturing hearts

with distant lays

of wild companions

adventuring

through childhood’s

morning

 

The Thing I Do Not Say Aloud

 I don’t want grandchildren.

I fear Armageddon, or worse –

drawn out misery, poverty

no human has ever known,

encroaching slowly

like herds of goats nibbling,

nibbling along the edges

of tilled lands, scorching earth

without need for firearms

or napalm.  Bees die

in droves, plastic trash

swirls in massive spiral coils

mid-ocean.

 

I remember the joy

of questing suckling mouths,

contentment no metaphor can equal

unless it be the purr

of a contented cat’s

deep rumbling delight

begun as a vibration in bone.

Children

are ultimate novelty

changing every second,

minds like sparklers

shedding sparks,

illuminating the world

with bright naïve intelligence.

 

Gazing

at my pregnant daughters

ripe with life

I see tiny skeletons

curled in utero.  Disaster

haunts my dreams.

The dissolution of age

becomes more bitter

 seeing light fail

at the end of a tunnel

where humankind’s future

comes to a dead

stop.

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