Umbrellate by Charlotte Force

 photo by Charlotte Force

photo by Charlotte Force

The purest days are primrose days; where buds are blushingly sunlit-free of doubt

The days where the feeling-lusty furl of a flower’s petal doesn’t seem so green and guessed

Curling over from under winter’s white-hushed plight

When crocuses croak diluted notes of vernal songs unspoken

When the bright of light mutes out the scumbling newness of spring

 

The clearest days work in clouds ways; the days where green graspingly becomes stain-speckled sputters of living

Where rivets form in fields torrented by brain clouds run magnificently astray

Where furls swirl inwards and umbrellate themselves from livid lashes of strike-taking thunder

Rainy days work in dust-hazy ways; forcing the extrospective to take shelter in-mind

Inside the next-to-newness of April-showers,

Brittle flowers bloom: candlelight-budding awareness of the droplets no longer dripping

Melts the bubble of sunnily nuclear days whose jonquil-blinding rays find ways

To dilute the dilation of an iris, post-indigo-pounding of a thunderstorm,

A posy meekly peeping from behind the ink-washed clouds.