Sunday, August 16, 2009

Poem of the Week #85 and #84

Poem of the Week #85


The soul
cleans its house,
sometimes in spring.

From head to toe
and stem to stern,
the soul tires of clutter.

It empties your attic brain
and basement drain.
The soul purges.

It washes the windows
behind your eyes,
airs out the ear drapes,

and throws open
all your closets
in an avalanche

of broken tennis rackets
and the occasional
skeleton. The soul

does not mind a mess;
thrives, in fact, in a pig sty.
Still, now and then,

it likes to see you
buffed and polished.
It likes to give you

a good scrubbing
so that once in a while,
you shine.

Lisa Vihos

Poem of the Week #84

The Heron

In a flap and flurry of wings,
the mauve grey heron clatters down
upon the glassy surface of the lake.

Not so good at landings, really,
the heron is more adept
at soaring overhead.

It flies, instead, with grace and alacrity.
A creature of mystery, who exhibits now
and then a carefree spirit of largesse,

a subtle, come-hither, avian allure,
to a woman on a dockside bench
with her sack lunch, book, and prayer.

She was unaware until it came
just how much she craved
this feathered messenger.

Lisa Vihos

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