And then there was Jane Kenyon



I just recently discovered Jane Kenyon.  Wow.  So of course, I had to try my hand at it.  From Let Evening Come to Let August Be.


Let August Be  On Woodrat Mountain Rd


Let the dust of a gravel road

mask the reddest of red poison oak,


the Douglas fir, reaching for sun.


Let the yellow jacket suck

the juice of a rotting plum like a drunk

nursing his bottle.  Let August be.


Let the chrysalis on the milkweed fall

beneath the blade of the county tractor,

the  Monarch disappears. Let August be.


Let the ghost of my dogs, pull me up

the road, tangling their leashes, tongues lolling.

Let August be.


To the Bud can in the star thistle, to the buzz

of the junction box, to the beat of a heart.

Let August be.


Let it be as it comes, as it will always be,

life sliding down. Summer whining

in the cicadas, so let August be.


In honor of Jane Kenyon


queenie and alli on woodrat



Published by: Basicallybarb

Barbara A Meier is a poet, teacher, and mother, trying to write her way out of Kansas, anxiety and depression. Instead of indulging in feeling like garbage, trash, or rubbish, she chooses to examine the debris of her life by writing poems about it. After all as a forgiven, child of God, simultaneously saint and sinner, she is loved and cherished by her God.

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