I’ve noticed that my poems often take a commanding tone. They suggest to each reader, “Listen to me. Go do this.” A weakness? Maybe. I need to ponder that. This poem takes that tone, but I don’t believe the tone is born of arrogance. Rather, I believe I, and my poem, simply want to share an experience that I’ve had, an experience born from time in the wood, my favorite place to be, and time in my imagination, another favorite place. 


in the tall grass
where blades
weave together

like twine
into rope.

still. Let
each moment
the next as a minute

blooms, an hour,
an afternoon.
Mice, burrowing
beneath the green canopy,

may scuttle
about your feet,
appreciate your warmth.
Even the earth
may remember
your heft
and bid wildflowers,
sweet clover

and meadow rue,
to turn their
faces toward you.


Inspired, in part, by a WordPress prompt.


4 thoughts on “Stand

  1. I have to agree with Sandra about your poetry. For me it’s always been more like a door to a magic kingdom. They bring out the adventurous child in me. I love this:

    each moment
    the next as a minute

    The idea that time blooms is SO interesting to me. A new concept really. Love that.


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