January 26th 2016

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ice
····through the leaky roof—the orange tree’s
········pot

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There’s that leak I can’t be bothered sussing out. Only happens when the ice dam breaks. I’ve put my little orange tree under the drip, and all’s right with the world.

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81 January 26th 2016 | bottlecap

6 responses

    • Ok, that last comment just put me in mind of rot-holed roofs you see in rural areas where building are allowed to go by, and it seduced me away from recent dogged work on a constitutional amendment proposed here in Maine in connection with our food sovereignty movement just long enough to dig up and re-work the contribution shown below. All work and no play . . . It’s my second sonnet attempt ever and possible only because I spent a major part of five months editing a deceased friend’s work and had the form, however imperfectly, imprinted on me.

      Searsport’s decaying house suggests now dimmed
      past use; its bold red sign has pled ‘Don’t Tread.’
      It’s haunted trips to Belfast for poems, film,
      or Monhegan, or dashes to Medford
      to watch two grand-kids first appear, then grow,
      or all these trips to H. Marine for paint,
      fittings, tables measuring the ocean’s flow,
      or seeing flea market tables, their quaint
      objects for others ‘from away’ – off’rings
      to acquire. The roof’s now broken ridge pole,
      raises up both ends like moth’s wings,
      prepares to whisk away the building’s soul.
      Sadness seeps in at the coming collapse,
      Then fades. It’s something I may yet outlast!

    • Thanks for posting that. The sonnet really takes off in the last five lines. That’s really nice imagery. It took me about five months to write my first sonnet!–kind of embarrassed by that.

      A couple more barns have collapsed in my neighborhood. Hate to see them neglected. There’s a whole history of timber-framing in every barn. Owners don’t realize what amazing structures some of these buildings really are–and valuable.

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