May
written by: D. R. James
Nuanced woo sleeves the trees absolutely,
limbs, trembling arabesques, re-enacting
their valedictive wave-shrug to April.
Constellations of light-green stars allay
the gray disposition: blazed artifice
erasing rafts of winter entropy.
Feathered seraphim inhabit the grove’s
ethereal umbrella (abstention
from fussy havoc not optional), daft
sanctuary for the ephemeral.
D. R. James, recently retired from nearly 40 years of teaching college writing, literature, and peace studies, lives, writes, bird-watches, and cycles with his psychotherapist wife in the woods near Saugatuck, Michigan. His latest of ten collections are Mobius Trip and Flip Requiem (Dos Madres Press, 2021, 2020), and his prose and poems have appeared internationally in a wide variety of print and online anthologies and journals
Latest posts by D. R. James (see all)
- Same Old Same Old - October 10, 2024
- Field Notes from an Old Chair - July 16, 2024
- Faux Thaw - April 5, 2024
