Florida’s Holy Ghosts

         Florida’s Holy Ghosts

Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem

The orange groves have left us but we hold

Them in our veins.  Reflection on them heaves

Them into beauty once again.  Though sold

To their destruction by big businesses thieves,

Destroyed, these ranks of trees live on in hearts

And brains the way a ghost photographer

Would make green rows fill up with spectral arts,

The way a holy hagiographer

Might hold up saintly beauty living on

Despite the filthy lucre debts incurred.

Instead of sunset, we might see a dawn

In memory though the picture will be blurred.

  Inside that image maybe orange trees

    Will still float on in orange fragrance breeze.

~ Phillip Whidden