This poem will be my daily (or whenever I can get around to it) rant. If you liked today's poem, no need to worry come tomorrow... there is an archive file. Granted you may have to look for it, but aren't my poems worth it?
Traversing
the cracked asphalt
path,
splongiferous fleejorb
running around my mind.
I come upon a tree,
with white blossoms in
full
orchestration.
Stopping briefly
, though I have little time,
I pick one.
It is light in color
and weight.
Ma' Nature's Meringue.
A short moment
passes with a
Beat.
Following this,
the petals disjoin
("Things fall apart, the centre cannot hold")
and flitter
to the ground by my feet.
Nothing but
a stem and a stamen
remain in my hand.
I place these
in my pocket,
full of
Tom Sawyerish
items.
I continue on,
after all,
I've got a class to make.
Asleep in class,
I dream.
An old man Jim,
passes by the tree again,
to stare up
at its beauty
as he did
umpteen years ago.
Approaching the tree,
he finds it bare-
with peeling bark,
and severed boughs.
Dry branches
are scattered
around its circumference,
and cover
a long disused
footpath
that circles the tree.
He closes
his eyes and
hears
running and laughing
("A little lovers' race")
and then
envisions dancing
("A lover's waltz around your base")
Falling to his knees
he weeps
and wails
and tears his shirt
apart at the buttons.
Glancing down
at his old man's chest
he stares at the kenji symbols
(love and eternity) on his breast.
And then
at the top of
his vision
he sees
dried, yellowed petals.
Reaching deep into his pockets
he pulls out
an
old, cracked
Tic-Tac container.
Inside are a stem and stamen
from long in his
past.
Summoning his strength
to get to his feet,
a branch
nearly jabs his eye.
He bends it,
it springs back.
He scrapes bark from it
with his thumbnail;
the flesh is green!
The branch that fed
the picked flower
still lived!
All of the blossoms
had drained the tree of its life.
The old me
begins laughing hysterically.
Laughing
he sits down,
against the tree's trunk,
and takes in
life's last few breaths.
Beth .
The bustle of leaving
students
wakes me.
I get up to leave
and walk past
the tree again.
This time
I stop not.
After all,
I've got a job to do.
Jim Cortina 4-25-2001