Sunday, May 6, 2012

The day spills scarlet



The day spills scarlet
my hands are stained
my feet
the sun streaks overhead
gashed with fire
rocks open, cracked
revealing centers
of ochre, bleeding

behind our lady in Paris
a quiet garden
of red and yellow

Photograph: Red bud by Sabine Sauermaul via Public Domain Pictures. Used with permission.

5 comments:

Jerry said...

Some days are like a blood letting...If that is how it is written. Thanks for sharing another thought provoking piece.

Robbie Pruitt said...

Nice poem and fantastic picture that illustrates it so well.

Sandra Heska King said...

Mary's heart surely cracked open that day. But without a scarlet-spilled, cracked, gashed day, we'd never know quiet. Lots to think about here, Glynn.

nance said...

pink cherry blossoms
line the paths
under my feet
like a spring snow

Chris said...

Hi Glynn, just stopping by to say how delightful your blog is. Thanks so much for sharing. I have recently found your blog and am now following you, and will visit often. Please stop by my blog and perhaps you would like to follow me also. Have a wonderful day. Hugs, Chris
http://chelencarter-retiredandlovingit.blogspot.ca/