April flexes its limbs encrusted with cloudlike blossoms that float on the air with Life’s perfume The masticated gravel between the teeth of the iron tracks refreshed by the sheets of last night’s rain And the moment I think about our Sun who art in Heaven rays of light spear through the morning’s clouds A pool of mulch gives birth to fluttering sparrows who hop to the brassy sounds of that righteous triumphant sun This is how I’m celebrating National Poetry Month watching the trees along the platform like baby’s breath on steroids strum a new melody upon the telephone wires The rebirth of Life in the face of Death Of souls who blow past my feet like white and purple blossoms Of clouds who nest upon the flexing limbs of a poetic April morning
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It's always a treat when a little poetic Victory comes our way. Well done, VP!
This is what classical poetry used to be.
With a post-modern edge:
"The masticated gravel between the teeth of the iron tracks"
When you write there is a switch thrown in my head from intellect to Motion Picture Mode where the words are instantly translated to Home Movies in the Mind.