ART by
Joan Tarbell Plato
Poetry:
US 2020 Pandemic
the cows got fed while the virus spread
the holy sun came up and at eve quickly fled
indoors shelves looking bare and
Zoom replaces human flair
medical meetings soar
and no one cares what they wore
books feeding minds, the news takes the lead
hedge funds buy up medical stocks
as the fossil fuel use, bleeds
yes, it’s certainly still bad deeds
as TV dominates, flashing miracle pill ads
and an interview of Michael Moore
gets cutoff for a vainfilled “whiter teeth” fad
but the river still flows free ...
while musical birds perch in the trees
carrying tunes so delightful
as the virus darts so free
over all our precious lands
and homes and stately trees.
JTPlato
4/2020
Rosehill Morning
The pristine white mansion sits comfortably
Amidst its glorious gardens with brilliant fuchia blossoms
Standing tall, stretching their new necks
Up to morning cobalt skies.
Clustered near, the summer orange lilies
Reach out
As earth opens its refreshing arms.
The orchard behind with hundreds of apple blooms
Soon to break forth, beckons,
Cushioning, as
Sauntering “en plein air” painters
Wading in spring grass, while bees buzz
Spot their delight and unfold
Voluminous supplies
About to commence
Their creative translations
Of this precious oasis.
Sparrows run now across the azure skies
Peony bushes wave
Effortless
As splendid diamonds shine
Amidst their lofty blooms.
JTPlato
The Seashore
Can one tame a coastline
As faraway storms blast in
And hammer sandy beaches for days
Usurping the sands
Realigning the coast
With torrents of wind and rain
Tossing seashells on high?
Treking the beach daily
I absorb the shoreline changes
Hundreds of shells one day
Minuscule the next.
Some mornings crisp wet air
Refreshes my face.
Other days humid sweat
Rolls streams off my forehead.
Battalions of terns
Often stand willful in lines
A few darting up and out
Into the soft morning winds.
The sea tosses and turns
Leaving its green moss and broken shells.
And sometimes a whole fish
Provides breakfast for gulls.
Tame a coastline – never!
The sting of flying sand now
Hits me square in the eyes
As these sand rivets flaunt
Their sculptural repetitive patterns
Down this elongated seashore.
Out amidst, the waves, hounded by the winds
Flow in angled even patterns towards shore.
The hearty pelicans now fly low
Diving rapidly vertical for early lunch
As white egrets trail close on their backs
Hoping to catch a morsel.
JTPlato
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