Springy

After all-night rain,
the forest floor is soft
and full of give.

A birch log collapses
when I step on it, but the bark
arches back after I pass.

New ferns uncoil,
heads slowly dissolving
into spine and ribs.

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Dave Bonta (bio) crowd-sources his problems by following his gut, which he shares with 100 trillion of his closest microbial friends — a close-knit, symbiotic community comprising several thousand species of bacteria, fungi, and protozoa. In a similarly collaborative fashion, all of Dave’s writing is available for reuse and creative remix under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 United States License. For attribution in printed material, his name (Dave Bonta) will suffice, but for web use, please link back to the original. Contact him for permission to waive the “share alike” provision (e.g. for use in a conventionally copyrighted work).

3 Comments


  1. To Call the Goddess

    The old man lost faith in rain,
    stopped praying, whispered soft,
    I’ve had enough. I give.

    How many poems can you give,
    brother, to call the goddess of the rain?
    A shadow in a sheep’s clothes, soft

    wings flutter, a sound so soft
    you stop the car, pull over and give
    a listen to the whistle of a train.

    To hear the rain fall soft again? I’ll give.

    Reply

    1. Bravo, James. And I’m honored that you capped off your highly successful NaPoWriMo with a prompt from Via Negativa!

      Reply

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