Friday, January 13, 2017

Robert Verdon, #416, Divine Garden

Two lines
of cypress pines
Nip the razorback

Like tweezers.
Far below
I search the

same old path
for a new turning.
While the goldfish jump

In the garden pond
And are never seen.
The blood-red roses

Conceal only aphids.

The radio
plays Beatles

Bringing back
Of the class

party of ‘63.
Like a volcano
That once erupted

And is now
by children.

I search the
same old path
on hands and knees

Sowing peppers.
I glance up:
The correa bushes
by my birdbath
(without a hiss
of wind) have parted
And there lies
a wood where
three ways meet.


  1. Magical, Robbie. Very fine.

    What's with the
    caps and
    The spacing?

  2. Thanks, Rob, I must confess this is an old one and I can't quite remember what the rationale was for the typography. Another that needs a rewrite perhaps.

    1. Ha. Great poem, mate. Just saying... :)


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