Tuesday, March 22, 2011

Milkweed

White, wind-blown messenger,
what have you sent me?

Sickness of the heart does ail,
a balm for which to Aesclepus
I have prayed without reply.

Planted in turbulent Earth,
swamp-dwellers, grown and born in liquid.
White amnion: the seed's womb.

For July's sustaining milk
we cry, from whose tears the
hardness of August does form.

Cotton caul, wind-ripped, is blown
past garbage shores to riparian
anointed land to rebirth.

White, wind-blown messenger,
what have you sent me?

(c) 2011 Michael Mosher

2 Comments:

Blogger Promising Poets Parking Lot said...

amazing take on messenger..

beautiful delivery.

10:11 PM  
Blogger Promising Poets Parking Lot said...

invite you to contribute a poem to poets rally week 41, a free verse is accepted.

We encourage, we share, we love poets, and we have fun..

Poetry awards may be assigned to quality participants/ first time participants.

Hope to see you in.
xoxox

10:11 PM  

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