Poetry Fix

Both brought to you cour­tesy of osp_feed.

Water­front Café
By John Isbell

I sat at the water­front café.
The stone bridge’s near side was root­ed in the soil,
While the oth­er dis­ap­peared into infinity.
I saw a bird fly across it
From a species not yet discovered,
With air beneath its wings.
I saw a man and a dog cross.
A moth­er crossed with­out her children.
A pro­ces­sion hon­or­ing the god Vish­nu crossed,
With music and strew­ing rose petals.
A math­e­mat­i­cal equa­tion with 16 sym­bols crossed,
And the word “endeav­or.”
A for­est crossed slowly.
A large fish crossed.
I drank my cof­fee on the terrace,
As the light moved toward evening.
My par­ents crossed in old-fash­ioned outfits.
A train crossed with a red caboose,
And peo­ple waving.
A small boy crossed.
A mead­ow crossed after him.
The Androm­e­da Galaxy crossed, too fast for vision.
Work­men put up a sign, “Closed For Repairs”,
And the bridge was still,
Save for a faint vibra­tion in the air
And the smell of rose petals
In the gath­er­ing evening light.


Pear Tree
By John Isbell

Each blos­som on the pear tree
Hur­tles through space
At a speed I can­not imagine.
Water lifts slowly
From the roots
Through the trunk
To every thirst­ing branch.
All around, grass goes about its business.
The white pear blossoms
Lit­ter the blue sky,
A mag­nif­i­cent architecture.
The branch­es reach up.
Those blessed with smell,
From rab­bit to man,
Are made drunk when they draw near.
This is a per­fect being.
The trunk is cool to the touch, and present.
The blos­soms flut­ter in the slight­est current,
Like paper boats.
I greet the pear tree,
And it nods gently.
We share this air.

Cyn is a proud Mommy & Mémé, professional geek, avid reader, fledgling coder, enthusiastic gamer (TTRPGs), occasional singer, and devoted stitcher.
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