The Poet Daniel Turner

Almost everyday In the cool shade of poetry I would approach the old tree That in a lively blossom Some of which, deep red and blue Would cast shadow on my rice and bread Would shake my chromosome, a little, In my pages so brittle now The fragrance and forms I would pick up Yes, of those flowers Of the intellectual hours And gather them I mean the rhythm and the metaphor The stars of the seer and philosopher The poet and the scholar Would gather them On the water of my small bowl Of my reflective thoughts and contemplation In moments of subtle sublimation A colorful crystallization The tree is really rich and lovely Sometimes bubbly sometimes melancholy It is over a month since It has no more been bringing out No cloud and light mixed sprout Of the lyrics of blossom To gather and store For our core For our sea gull soar So awesome On inquiry a friend told me An arm has got injured And the spirit unsure To sap the resources of the soil To uncoil from it The flowers of spirit A book is missing From my bookcase A moon from my dream Like the crows we cannot scream Still we wish a quick return From the infirm arm That, as we learn Has kept the blooms _________________________________ 09/04/2017