Thursday, March 31, 2016

Beautiful Things


  I started a Spenserian sonnet over a month ago—or is it two? But I can't figure out how I want to proceed for the moment, so I'm going to manifest a few smaller ideas in the meantime.

Beautiful Things


Beautiful things go bloom
    in the night. Concussive
        shockwaves fan out to
    shake my bones and rattle
my humours with spasms.

Beautiful living things bloom,
    blasting silent explosions
        into my flesh as ashes
    of new beginning settle
in my convulsing lungs.

Grasses bang tiny blooms
    on the valley floor, as do
        conifers high on rocky hills.
    Everywhere perennials bolt
and burst blooms of every kind.

Cherry trees explode fireworks,
    ten thousand little blooms
        shifting beneath the moon,
    but these only fill the chambers
of my heart with quiet joy.

  Why all the explosions? Some metaphors connecting with allergies and asthma.

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