Five-minute Poem 6.2016

There’s a breeze in the air

and big flowering bushes are taking over the sidewalks

much to everyone’s glee,

as they peruse the outdoor menus and those windows-full of over priced, raw cotton caftans.


Normal June, plain-old-tourist town. Nothing has changed as the season rolls in.


The world is churned-out, wobbling on its axis. We’re dizzied by death and think pieces.


But the breeze in the Berkshires still blows.

wall pockets

Wall Garden
(C) jcs 2006

Breaking down the ash and rock

existing now just to hinder and trip.

With a pick, with an axe, with a torch —

Laying at the table the practical,

pulling from grey matter fantastical;

switching the spoils from hand to hand,

weighing, comparing, flinging over the fence

little flecks, little specks, the occasional bright bauble

in an effort to winnow, to burrow, and strike.


~ j. stevenson 12.30.15