The World Is Still Too Much

Too much, and much too much, it still goes on:
The men and women who covet wealth and bling,
And acquisition of each material thing,
Yet search for some elusive paradigm

Of Self as one with Nature. Rising seas
And tempest winds instill a mounting fear
That Doomsday, Armageddon, the End draw near,
And quick to Nature’s wrath they must appease.

Together, they will save the Earth, demand
That we consume fewer fossil fuels,
And lobby for strict environmental rules;
See to it that everyone throughout the land

Pays homage to the new religion—Green;
But first, they need to check their iPhone screen.

 

Too Much Red Meat

If you should eat
Too much red meat,

You may find out
You have the gout;

But if you eat
The fruited meat
Of dark red cherry,
You’ll soon make merry.

 

Celia Thaxter’s Garden

When nurtured by the lady’s gentle hand,
A garden bloomed from out the roughened land;

Where to the east lay shoals and ocean rocks,
The view to west was crimson hollyhocks,

Their showy columns rocking to and fro
In gusty breezes; roses—jacqueminot,

Damask, and tea; nasturtium, pink, and aster;
Petunia, flax, and marigold; spikes of larkspur

And sunflower; twinkle-white of clematis
And calla lily; iris, oxalis,

Forget-me-not and bachelor’s button; blued
By heaven morning glory; multi-hued

Wisteria, pea, and coreopsis vine
With honeysuckle, hops, and columbine;

And drifts of poppies fired like blown glass,
Their petals flaming suns in the beach grass;

Then blown away to welter on the sea
In undulating knolls, a watery lea;

In spite of storms and besting wicked weeds,
Had time enough to set their podded seeds;

These flowers, lacking any major shelter,
This humble garden, rambling helter-skelter,

From clustered bells to radiant anadems,
The lovely blooms were works of art on stems;

A home to bees and jeweled hummingbirds,
That honeyed Celia’s mouth with nectar-words;

When placed in vases through the parlor room,
They doused the summer guest with sweet perfume;

And there, at that resort, Victorian-quaint,
The artist, namely Hassam, loved to paint,

Sonatas filled the air, poetic lays
Inspired—pellucid, watercolor days

At Appledore—idyllic arts retreat,
Where Celia’s garden charmed the time’s aesthete!

 

Cheryl Corey’s poetry appears in The Society of Classical Poets Journal 2016 Vol. 4.  Recent publications include a short story, “The Briar Rose”, featured in Tall Tales & Short Stories, an anthology published in 2014; and in 2016, “The Mirror”, a novella, was published. Her writing has been selected for future publication in an anthology of women writers. For correspondence regarding the “po biz” and writing life, email chercore@hotmail.com.

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