Dislike her but unable to resist her,
the dark iris
high and straightly,
in the white page, a single phrase of boldness.
calmly from beginning,
dark, dark silk and smell of the flower,
elegance and purpose,
small and with method.
From the petal-lip
each secret vibrates.
Monochromatic ink strokes pull certainly at my edges.
Beauty twines where tongue,
a splendid stalk of sweet reason, trembles.
Bloom, leaf, stalk–everything stands
in the assault
of tender admiration.
The Poetic Rabbit
Copyright and Attribution Info
This work by Tawnya Smith is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License.
What I’ve Never Forgotten:“If I read a book and it makes my whole body so cold no fire can warm me, I know that is poetry. If I feel physically as if the top of my head were taken off, I know that is poetry. These are the only ways I know it. Is there any other way?” ― Emily Dickinson, Selected Letters
On Any Given Day
Shapes of Writing
Tracking the Hare
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