by Paula Earnest
Pulling Weeds
There’s something about pulling weeds
that grow wild as tangled words
Unsightly nettles of letters twisted
together on vine-like lines that
string along unrhymed
They sprout needles like senseless thoughts
popped out in purple thistle tops
Unwanted words, razor edged
bare barbs that sting and prick and poke
like pointed burrs that hurt on feet
or hearts once stepped upon
Mixed up—messed up—worthless words
you pick and prune and yank and cut
wrenching weedy afterthoughts and
second guesses from the ground
Dig down your strong nails
Claw into hard dirt
Sort through bad seeds
Pull up buried roots
Toss out unwelcome invading beliefs
of old stories or wasted words
like the dead leaves they are
Make room—
New flowers will bloom enough
like the right word
bad choices often choke off
***
Lovely Waiting Stars
As day greets night,
one bowing to the other,
there is a moment when
day is not day and
night is not night but
a pause between,
as two hands touch
in silent prayer.
It is then
when clouds seep
into the porous sky
deepening plum to sapphire.
Before darkness rises.
Before lightness fades.
Quiet surrounds
the arriving moon.
In whispers she calls
all the lovely waiting stars.
Paula, you paint beautiful pictures with your words.
Thanks, Patty