An Orange Day
the blow-in of tawny gusts frigid tinges - puffs of a polar dragon it’s intemperate hawing sawing at my neck seven spheres in a basket ju jubes of the gods clustered roundness their silvery dimples like jewellery inside-out leaves: falling, flying ticking by like headlines their grasp on frisby days if we’re not spinning out we’re landing, beheading clover playground equipment arched into the salmon wind stiff ladders and forced curves and peachy shade sails their flap and clang and the toothy kiss of a market pomegranate it’s spill of seeded fire sticky in a white bowl and on my son’s happy lips
I love that through all of nature’s modds and forces, your son concentrates on his bowl of pomegranates seeds.
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LOL He does LOVE a pomegranate
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That last stanza is great. I hope Master W enjoys his pomegranate.
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LOL Thanks. ALways!
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😂
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Pomagranates ..Yum; Your poem…Double yum.
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🙂 thanks Ron
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Love your description of the playground equipment! 👍😁👏❤️
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Thanks, Ken! 🙂
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Lovely circles here, worms, and the vibrant colors cast a spell. 💜
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Thanks so much, K!
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You’re so welcome.
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