July 2024
Douglas Brown
dwbrown49@gmail.com
Bio Note: I am a retired firefighter. Once daily chores are complete, I scratch my balding head with words. I hope you all have a good summer. I appreciate everyone's work submitted to Verse-Virtual.

Iris

Yellow iris
Lips of May,
Night does fade.
Bees and Cloudless Sulphur
Brush your yellow flesh.
Their bodies flee,
These wisps of the air.

Soon the iris pales.
Heat bedraggled membranes;
A crumpled sail.
This windless holiday. Last week

A storm-felled pine opened the ground.
There the cut iris lay.
A gnarled root ball marks
One brief joy, endless in its ending.

Winter's Sun

Morning sun lays upon the cherry table,
Lineated by window blinds, rounding violets
In purple flower,
Wounds cut and burned scar the leaves.
A white bird seen, unseen, navigates mist
Rising as rollers collapse upon the pebble shore.
Returning to clear the dishes and sort the day.

©2024 Douglas Brown
Editor's Note: If this poem(s) moves you please consider writing to the author (email address above) to say what it is about the poem you like. Writing to the author is what builds the community at Verse Virtual. It is very important. -JL