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a flower given
by Charlie Morganthe roses were wilting;
a wrinkle in time, left
its mark and banked off.
a noise that perks Odie's ears
heard by the neighbors too;
a call from tomorrow, today.
come walk with me. become me.
a clamor of jungle gardenias
banged like cymbals in the band.
a flower disguised; a day lent.
each a monument to Now. Now, when
everything happens: Now. 09/09/2009 Posted on 09/09/2009
Copyright © 2024 Charlie Morgan
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Alison McKenzie on 09/09/09 at 10:39 PM You're on an amazing roll, my dear Charles. Another keeper! |
| Posted by Glenn Currier on 09/17/09 at 03:58 PM Sometimes I walk with you and think: "Just how oh how could I become Charlie?" Occasionally -rarely - I imagine that my imagination might hold a small candle to you - then I read your next poem and I am at that moment in Wonder... knowing ... there is no other Charlie. But how blessed am I to linger for a few moments in his Now. "a clamor of jungle gardenias" Wow! |
| Posted by Gregory R Schelske on 05/08/11 at 03:10 AM Wow. Wish I had written this. I could've you know. :) |
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