Archive for the ‘poetry’ Category
root cellar
~
root cellar
~
over the hill
cold earth sequesters
seeps of water
and lichened stone
roots in dry sand
preserves on shelves
of rough-hewn boards
~
mice gnaw on the seam
of a gunny sack of corn
blue mold on the surface
of a jar of apple jelly
Mama just scoops it away
pumpkins never keep
past December
~
~
Copyright Jane Tims 2019
~
All my best,
Jane
dandelion fluff
~
dandelion fluff
~
purse lips
and puff
make a wish
scatter seeds
to wind
and follow
into sun
~
~
Copyright Jane Tims 2019
~
All my best,
Jane
Pearly everlasting
~
Pearly Everlasting
Anaphalis margaritacea L.
~
Pearly Everlasting
sign of summer’s passing
yet – immortelle
picked by the road
by the armload
hung from rafters
children’s laughter
runs beneath
~
downy leaf, woolly stem
white diadem
perfectly matched flowers
thatched in gold
dry and old
~
Linnaeus named
for Marguarite
memory sweet
paper petals keep
pale perfume
summer grace
in a winter room
~
~
Published as: ‘Pearly Everlasting’, The Antingonish Review 92, 1993 and at niche poetry and prose, August 20, 2012 here
Copyright Jane Tims 2012
~
~
All my best,
Jane
in an orchard
~
orchard
~
between apples, twigs and leaves
stems and branches
are glimpses
of sky
~
sapphire and cerulean
panes of leaded
transparent
glass
~
molten in motions of wind
edges in
malleable
light
~
fragile as blades of bent grass
stiffened by frozen
morning
dew
~
~
Copyright 2019 Jane Tims
~
All my best,
Jane
fetching water
~
fetching water
~
‘Strength in those arms,’
says Mama. ‘Fetch
me a bucket
of cold water
from the well.’
~
‘Need one of those
pumps,’ says Papa.
‘Painted iron,
hornbeam handle.’
~
‘No need,’ says Thomas.
‘I know how to drop
the bucket
so she fills
the first time.
~
‘Echoes lift
from well-stones.
My face down there,
winks on the water.
Strength in these arms.’
~
~
Copyright 2019 Jane Tims
~
All my best,
Jane
hauling wood
~
hauling wood
~
The draft horse answers
to a click, a shake
of the reins, the squawk
of a blue jay, flushed
from the thicket. Long
tail hairs scatter flies.
Chain rings, loops around
the log, its cut end
a brake, ploughs up duff.
Nostrils flare and hooves
find gain in gather
of leaves, paw for ground.
Lather under tack,
he lowers his head.
Takes the woodlot incline
as though he’s navigated
these hardwoods
all of his life.
~
~
Copyright 2019 Jane Tims
~
All my best,
Jane
nichepoetryandprose 