Past the Stretches of Lavender Silk and Thistle Milk

Past the Stretches of Lavender Silk and Thistle Milk

By Lisa Porter-Grenn

Caught by the sweet stretch of yellowing summer that beckons

Motionlessly under the burden of half-spent ice-cream dreams

And long tepid pools of watermelon sugar,

Stand the slowly softening sidewalk rinds hiding deep secrets

That haven't yet been opened.
This summer scene spins delectably throughout the eons of time:
From powdery chalk lines to tousled jump-ropes

To lethal metal jacks amid a game of cat’s-eye marbles.

There are rules, and rules get broken

Much like the windows opened wide

To catch the freshness that floats away

Into remote corners of the world

Only to find that painted casements promise comfort

And the flimsy window screen, a measure of security

Before the rains begin.

Yet, it is the swarming ant hills

That amuse me the most;

And I imagine their deep abyss where drones carry on

Solely for the brittle queen within her nest of paper jelly:
A fuzzy dowager calling out quick shots to

Her cheerless rank of pithy eunuchs who fetch

Her Royal Highness scores of milk and honey.
Do they gather how amazed we all are

By their tidy industry and immense sense of duty?

Probably not, for their brains are

Too tiny to think beyond the

Ordinary drudgery demanded of

Such rank and file creatures

Inhabiting the sands below time;

These busy denizens of the gravel pits!

The smell of lilies and lavender meld

Softly with thistle-milk and cut grass,

So is the summer wind before me.

A mourning dove with license moans

In tones that speaks of dewdrops and early

Evening fog in a throat made low by cloud cover.
Trumpeting toads eternally chant and dance by the

Edge of the fountain, its water-spray

Lightening the burdens collected through

Hours spent in weighty recovery. Yet, the seriousness
Of the soaring noon-time temperature appears lost

On most everyone, as they toy with sycamore leaves

Left in winsome piles collected by the sunlight
around us. The scent of autumn is heavy... And you,

You wonder why I pore over the days’ events

Like a sojourner with road map in hand.

The answer comes easy (you see), for there

Are still secrets that flee from the beam

Of empirical evidence…

 And that’s all right by me. 

Poem written by Lisa Porter-Grenn

Copyright 2013

XOXOX