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

by phillipw | Apr 25, 2025 | BR, FL, ME, OR, TI |