Poetry by Gwen Gould
morning wakens
glistening wet sun drops
on quivering leaves
whisper life
NY Times headlines
slip silently into my inbox
without the dramatic voice
of a newscaster
the words scream out
their horrific content
jarring the core
of my quiet
people are blown up
while they shop
ride the trains
travel to work
my garden vegetables
luscious green and swollen
from the monsoon-like rain
need weeding and tending
bombs
in the open market
kill innocent people
shopping for produce
I weed and spade
in dazed disbelief
tears mingled with sweat
fall on my broccoli
death is a high price to pay
for fresh vegetables
Gwen H. Gould is a well-known orchestra conductor.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment