Best Thistle Poems

seasons keep m o v i n g 
 and s w i r l i n g
memories keep f l o w i n...

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I have briefly caught sight of the other side of yesterday,
blinded by the sun, while running barefoot across a field of thorns
I'll carve a path...

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Untroubled is the quiet night
How peaceful is a world that glimmers white
Frost and moonlight have whipped a silver glaze
And silhouettes of trees are black as...

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Cypress trees like evergreen steeples
rise above rows of gravestone woes,
their shadows lie side by side like railroad ties 
across writhing paths banded like snakes;
the gravel...

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I wonder about her
as I shave suet and place thistle seed down -

once again

she reveals herself to the corner of my eye
a slight movement caught...

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When you are 
an agonizing 
echo from a
benevolent voice,
life exhales in
mahogany haze, 
spreading across the
lachrymose meadows as 
scarred rivulets of
sandalwood scents, 
where ceramic 
rhymes slumber...

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Trills tumble through an air long silenced
warbled melodies enlighten the palate 
whistles delight but fly off to the thistle
freighted by the frigid speak  
amongst...

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Through frayed seams a rosy dream bleeds 
needled and re-stitched 
with threads of time and love and hope..

and still — a rosy dream bleeds 
the...

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It was glorious ...

A glorious, glowing morn ...
crimson crept up the sky, as if air-brushed ...
little round globs of fair-weather clouds tiptoed on the reach,
(so...

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With Youth.....

Watch this girl...
she has her eyes
on a rising dandelion
sprouted in high grass,
a pensive girl, 
weaving her way through the fields,
looking past weeds to her...

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I love your heathered highlands,
steep cliffs and rugged islands,
hedges and gardens under
rainclouds of grey.
Old steeples rise above
those small rural towns I love;
your hillsides of sunny...

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The cock hasn't been seen in a fortnight 
but it's time 
the vagabonds have all but vacated   
and the windows boarded up 
  
don't...

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we ...
are strands ...
they, a strumming, resonant -
notes of an ambrosial
strain that tickles the tympans of
life and enlightenment ...
they are thistle on the breath of...

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Petites and Faeries, it is said, live just beyond that hill
       Their Moondust dazzles breathlessly, on nights so calm...

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"There are those to whom place is unimportant,
But this place, where sea and fresh water meet,
Is important ---"
From "The Rose", by Theodore Roethke

Chilly late October;
thin...

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