The poet snaps out of it

A red snapdragon I
did not plant tumbles
from rough rock soft
rounded lobes offering
themselves to
the rugged world

how readily beauty
dazzles when it does not
care who sees a poem
I think and then
the butcher’s knife drops
from the counter pierces

my foot so deeply
so cleanly cleaving
the flesh as if it too
were meat

an offering to
the depthless hunger
of the living a poem
I think but then

the blood its red
rounded lobes seeking
the ocean from which
it came how holy
the longing of blood a poem
I think and then

it clots colludes
in its own
and perhaps love
is domestication

a willingness to be
constrained now
there’s a poem
I think and one day

such beauty
loosed into
the rugged world
and dazzling not
caring who sees but

right now
a Band-aid



  1. Such a powerful poem!


    1. Thank you!


  2. I hope you healed. The poem was beautiful.


    1. You’re kind. The Band-aid turned out to be a stop-gap on the way to stitches. But … slowly, slowly healing. Thank you for reading and commenting.

      Liked by 1 person

  3. D'Arcy Fallon · · Reply

    Stunning and stunning. A prize-winner here, this one.


    1. Probably not, but you’re kind to say so. It made me laugh, and that’s a prize. ๐Ÿ™‚ I hope you’re doing well, Bunkster!


  4. Oh my! Two “shades” of red …
    Neither intentionally planted …


    1. Yes, but both pretty. ๐Ÿ™‚

      Liked by 1 person

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