Sunday, May 1, 2016

Sunday Morning Poetry

A House of Readers

At 9:42 this May morning
the children's rooms are concentrating too.
Like a tendril growing toward the sun, Ruth
moves her book into a wedge of light
that settled on the floor like a butterfly.
She turns a page.
Fred is immersed in magic, cool
as a Black-Angus belly deep in a farm pond.

The only sounds: pages turning softly.
This is the quietness
of bottomland where you can hear only the young corn
growing, where a little breeze stirs the blades
and then breathes in again.

I mark my place.
I listen like a farmer in the rows.
                                                             ~ Jim Wayne Miller

Happy Sunday, friends.


gkgirl said... this!

Marilyn Miller said...

I love the image of settling on the floor like a butterfly. Lovely poetry!

Sally Wessely said...

Beautiful. The images are so wonderful.

Jeanne said...

Beautiful I love this
Love Jeanne

HKatz said...

I like the quiet, loving attention in this poem and the feeling of being immersed in a beautiful present moment.

Also, the butterfly photo is gorgeous. On a recent hike, I saw large beautiful butterflies, and they added to the magic of the woods.

Oldies, but Goodies