Friday, 8 July 2011

Wiregrass by L Ward Abel

A transfusion of yellow butterflies.
It fills the woods late in the afternoon.
I stretch out my arm to receive

and feel wings of silk in my bloodroad
veins. Survival. Gray areas of my seasons
line a path recently paved with white mud.

It sinks better drivers than I ever was.
And I wish I could play the chord
that the color bluegreen makes

just after it rains. Under live oak my legs
are jerking. They refuse to die. It rains again.
Me outstretched now, beaded wet,

out of breath.
See, I want to take something in
like sweet air. Like time.


L Ward Abel, Georgia, USA

9 comments:

Gordon Mason said...

Great images; enjoyed this poem.

Carole Towers said...

it begins and ends with perfect line--lines that have something to do with the infinite.

Ward said...

I appreciate the kind words, both of you.

Sasquatch said...

very nice poem. I enjoy reading poems that are purely free expression in the simplest yet most beautiful ways!

Voiceless_Bumblebee said...

Great poem, I enjoyed reading it.

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Jack Edwards Poetry said...

Brilliant imagery and use of enjambment.

Braydon said...

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