By Arthur H. Gunther III
No essays this week, just pictures and the “poetry” that seems to go with each one.
SONG
Woods, solitude,
wind whispering
as nature writes
a melody
in a long,
wonderful breath
APPLES
In their season,
at picking,
the best first
Then the ones
not noticed
but still worthy
The poor ones
gone begging, just
ahead of the drops
SAND
Beach sand
awaiting impression,
particles of glass
diffused
Until flesh
compresses
Life stamp
before the next
leaves a mark
AWAKENING
Asleep, dreams
from the mind’s
collected bits
On a journey
of the fanciful
Alarm sounds,
reality returns
The writer is a retired newspaperman who can be reached at ahgunther@yahoo.com This may be reproduced.
