Dark purple fruit for food
Around here they call it inkberry
Derided by many as unnecessary
Removal from the landscape is customary
Diligent birds replant it by seed
Can be messy indeed
(A Trois-par-Huit Poem)
What is the spot in the middle
Of the delicate Queen Anne’s Lace?
Surrounded by snowy white blooms
It certainly seems out of place.
They say Queen Anne was making lace
And tatting the designs by hand
When the needle caught her finger
A stain on the lace did expand
Now the flowers cover the land
Thriving in forgotten places
Far from what people call nature
Despite the life in these spaces
From afar all you see is white
Flowers waving across the field
It’s not until you get up close
That the colorful is revealed
(A Redondilla Poem)
(A Serventesio Poem)
With a purple tutu
Covering those sharp spines
Roadside weed, food for bees
Glistens with summer dew
Used to comb wool so fine
Now here from overseas
Growing and excelling
(A Rimas Dissolutas Poem)
First Day of Summer
Under an umbrella of sunshine, white clover flowers rise above their own heart-shaped foliage amidst a green mat of linear leaves. They shudder in the warm gentle breeze, stopping only momentarily before vibrating again.
Bees visit flowers
Buzzing to bring life before
Mower buzzes through
(A Haibun Poem)
Is that purple violet a weed?
Is the dandelion a pest?
Surely you jest!
What do I see in these beauties?
Let’s stop being so plant snooty
Stop judging every small flower
Without knowing its great power
No indeed, surely you jest! Precious cuties!
(An Ovillejo Poem)