Enter Home Planet News Poetry of Issue #4                        Page 48
Table of

Apple Trees

Apples blush, then brown
where birds stabbed
for worms. My trees
tempt no one, aged,
gnarled, wounded trunks
scarred by wind, bowed
by weight of fruit
we do not eat,
leaves speckled yellow
spots along gray
crooked veins, scabby
crazed harbingers
of long dark winters
until spring sprouts
all those white pink
blooms of hope.

  Richard Dinges, Jr.

©Wicklow Swans in Mokum by CTvM

Bare Trees

Bare tree limbs
fragment white
hillsides, stained
glass windows
with no color,
no glass or panes.
Wind free to pass
through, trees
less frantic now
barren of leaves'
resistance, open
to see the other
side, feel north
wind cold on my
eyes wide open.

  Richard Dinges, Jr.

White Pine

White pines blur
green, brush gray
blue into muddy
puddles that bleed
beneath a fuzzed
sun, dark limbs
cracked and cragged,
jagged edges
to stained glass
frames, spired trunks
and crossed arms,
only the peak branch
waves gently
in an unfelt breeze.

  Richard Dinges, Jr__


Cicadas drone.
Sky grumbles low,
long to a horizon's
knit brow, sun
a wink and gone.
Air trembles, thins.
Mists rise from dark
shadows between
still trees. First drops
spatter, shudder
leaves, rivulets
in dust. Then clouds
shatter, erase
my tiny view
of my tiny world.
I hold my breath
for something new.

  Richard Dinges, Jr

Watch Dogs

Just when traffic
stopped its steady
roar and cicadas rasped
dry summer breeze,
a dog barked,
mayhem broken loose
from farm to farm.
They howled at danger's
odor only they could
smell, placed their
invisible cordon
around us, to return
order to our steads,
frighten away
evil spirits, then
settle into long dark
dog slumber, legs
kicking at threats
only they can dream.

  Richard Dinges, Jr__