Little Desert Flower

by Michael Lee Johnson / October 16th, 2016

Out of this poem
grows a little desert flower.
it is blue sorrow
it waits for your return.
You escape so you must from me
refuge, folded, wrapped in cool spring rain leaves-
avoiding July, August heat.
South wind hellfire burns memories within you,
branded I tattoo you, leave my mark,
in rose barren fields fueled with burned and desert stubble.
Yet I wait here, a loyal believer throat raw in thirst.
I wrest thunder gods gathering ritual-prayer rain.
It is lonely here grit, tears rub my eyes without relief.
Yet I catch myself loafing away in the wind waiting fate
to whisper those tiny messages
writer of this storm welded wings,
I go unnoticed but the burned eyes of red-tailed hawk
pinch of hope, sheltered by the doves.
I tip a toast to quench your thirst,
one shot of Tequila my little, purple, desert flower.

Michael Lee Johnson, from the Chicago area, is an internationally published poet in 46 countries or republics; several published poetry books have been nominated for 7 Pushcart and 7 Best of the Net nominations. Read other articles by Michael Lee, or visit Michael Lee's website.

This article was posted on Sunday, October 16th, 2016 at 8:02am and is filed under Poetry.