Brother Wasp

Brother Wasp.

Scooping onto folded sheet a half dead wasp,

first faint  flutterings vibrate, becoming strong and  near,

pulsing my hand and arm in throbbing clasp,

sending waves of recognition slow yet clear.

I’m filled with  strangest, echoing response

to an unknown denizen of airy sphere.

 

I sense your essence on my blood,

sense your being, experience your need,

and free from  fear, feel only  brotherhood.

I let you slide onto  living plant and seed

where to commune alive and grow.

 

Though ways divide your life from mine

in this small moment I  richly know

that woven through a mystery divine

the sacred skein of life is still the same

though our existence has another name.

The Pollarding

 

 

 

 

 

White foam, fluttering filmy lace
snowing petals on my lawn
divested of your pride and grace
your fragile spring gown rent and torn.

Transfigured tree what altered space
you now command, where unkind breezes blow
and nestling birds can find no space
to succour young, to breed and grow.

Now bare and shorn of your bright locks,
of verdant green and new fragility,
like ravaged maid whose crass attacker mocks
her youthful fresh untouched virginity.

Defrocked yet proud, unyielding, still are raised
truncated muscles, broken arms that dare defy,
despite your beauty slashed, defaced,
accusing fingers underneath a heartless sky.

Margaret Gill