Weird

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

How strange these bright orbs seem beneath the snow

Of Florida.  The rarity should be

The flakes heaped up on an orange van Gogh

Might choose as fierce enough, a bright whoopee

Across a canvas mentally distressed.

A strangeness lies in waiting all around

Though not surreal, not quite.  A snowman dressed

In olives might seem holily profound

If set down here but Salvador forgot

Assassinated poets long ago.

The fountain Ponce de Leon had sought

Warped into Christ and rubbed out Lorca’s glow.

  Suspended not quite seen above the spheres

    Sliced, levitating, Gala’s breast appears.

~ Phillip Whidden

by phillipw | Jul 16, 2024 | DA, FL, GA, OR, PO, SA, SN, SU | 0 comments