HOW THE LOVE WE NEVER GOT

I remember…
winter, late, huffing, indignant
of spring-young sprouting.
Earth-leaned, robin spattered,
song drops and sparse frost
now tucked and trousered —
so sulked she roared,
ranted and rattled,
shameless and frazzled —
this dead-dropped last year.
Forgotten! drum-strummed and furious,
she late-howled in flakes
as feathered frolics spun and spurned,
wove, whistled, nested, nipped and yearned
— my breast! bird brewed —
until the sky spattered clear
amidst the spiraled soak
of her gold-grown green fear.

So winter sulked
and sighed
towards summer,
when
I,
butter-rubbed,
rumbled.

HOW THE LOVE WE NEVER GOT

Blake Steele

Molkom, Sweden

  • Artist
    Notes
  • Artwork Comments 25

Artist's Description

It is so painfully true that our trauma, with all its once needed defenses of twisting, turning, fighting, spurning, becomes, when outgrown by goodness, and all that might become… oh grace! sabotages, if it may, in every way and might, the green growth of new beginnings, the longed for laugh of pure delight.

Artwork Comments

  • Photography  by Mathilde
  • helene ruiz
  • Blake Steele
  • nancyames
  • Blake Steele
  • Lisa  Jewell
  • Blake Steele
  • PlatypusPark
  • Blake Steele
  • Sybille Sterk
  • Blake Steele
  • sesheshet
  • Blake Steele
  • LisaMM
  • Blake Steele
  • autumnwind
  • Blake Steele
  • Jurmale
  • Blake Steele
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