Wednesday, May 11, 2011

In A Field of Red Poppies

I crafted this poem on the train, rushing across the Tuscan countryside, Milan bound. Past cultivated vineyards and fields of wild red poppies. Italy is so fair, so pleasant,and ultimately enchanting; a jewel of the European countries. Once again I find myself contemplating beginnings and endings, common themes of my inner landscape.


  In a field of red poppies

From the haze of moist afternoons
from the clarity of starlit nights,
Allow yourself to seep into the earth deeply,
back to your original stain.
No more and no less Bruised,
No more and no less Illuminated.

There will be no cold stone to mark your place
so make big splashes,
kick the ball and run,
raise your exalted flag.

Then, like obedient schoolchildren
Stand quietly in line.
Learn to take your turn.
Learn to take your turn and not weep
when your great and proud
Moment is over.

Due to terrorist activity in Marrakesh, Morocco, we have cancelled our trip there and instead flew to Kardamena on the Island of Kos, Greece, where the shining sea is bright and lovely.

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