Mulling It Over

For other sides
and greener grass
my mule decides
to be an ass.

(mindbringer,11 September 2009)

poem by Thomas Holderfield
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Sonnet In Bee Flat

There must be a place (but I've yet to find one)
beneath the Sol-drawn dawn of autumn skies
where cut-throat trout still find the heart to run
and the fullness of Summer's life never dies.

There, as if Earth had changed rotation,
Instead of honey, nature gathers dew
and composes a world without notation.
Unlike the life of old, this work is new.

Despite the nearing gray cold wintry blast,
the twisted fir tree keeps her dreams of green,
of a chamomile welwitschian past,
and buzzing yellow flights of friends less seen.

But bees still dance their flower pollen-aise,
a song of haze gold mid-October days.

(mindbringer,19 October 2009)

poem by Thomas Holderfield
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