These are the rushes to fall
the wasps tell, swarming
to warmth, spilling their guts,
spewing moments I’ve had
with less to show. They pat,
pattern a fashion, reconstitute
afternoons and steal away
sun for a cold empty. Leave
the nest, it’s only a test,
a testament to optimism.
* * *
teeming huddled masses
I took this photograph at Maryhill Museum earlier in the fall. My office mates and I were out on a fun day trip, a field trip for adults to relish a crazy work-deadline met. Outside, west of the main building, is an outside structure, large, like a small bridge, made of concrete with lovely openings and slots, views to look around and through and over. My companions were mostly scrambling all over the sculpture (the fellows, anyway) like young kids, tossing footballs and having a grand time.
what the others were doing
views through concrete
* * *
Like usual, I was observing, noting small little details of this and that and found a swarm of wasps readying themselves for winter. The concrete acts like a heat sink, and even in the cold winter, with the wind roaring down the Columbia River Gorge, they should be warm and protected. They were beautiful.
No related posts.
The light in the photos is so diaphanous. Must be that west coast horizon.
I like the description of yourself, it made you sound like the writer you are.
Your poem shows the attention you paid, and how you were able to make a metaphor from your observations.
the last stanza …
the nest, it’s only a test,
a testament to optimism.
wow! i love how you said/wrote that. we all talk about the ants starting again and again when the anthills are stomped. we sometimes talk about it as a blind work ethic and sheer determination.
but calling these wasps optimistic is a stroke of genius!!
[...] or rather, manipulative). But they were paring of disparate words. I used a couple myself, in my last poem (test and testament) but I want to explore this funny little “concept” even [...]