blame

I blame no one, nothing,
because much good does come
from these afternoon storms
that quench the thirst of so
much about me.

But I wish there
was less of it.

I dream & am made
imperfect. I lean &
fall down to the carpet.
I itch & feel stains of
poison ivy.

I wonder & blame current
affairs like the Oil Slick
in the Gulf.

I sit & am made
translucent.

06.02.10

(© 2010 by j. m. Scoville)

Whittled from the Inside

My universe is thunder & lightning
& rain & darkness. I have no torch,
no flashlight nor candle, but I can
see in the dark
& know that a system founded
upon such diversity will eventually
shift with calm possible afterwards.

I am aching.
My stomach is being whittled
from the inside.
It growls & groans.
I must accept such pain & lay
it down on a lovely altar
with cut flowers

& my poetry.

06.03.10

(© 2010 by j. m. Scoville)