The blond-ing rabble make a few flush ruddy
enough to shed hay.
Crowns burning like brand new copper pennies.
Some with flaxen weeping heads,
drumming fingers or knobby sockets.
Spring is like a post-wedding afternoon.
Branches brushed with bursting party poppers,
dabbed and dotted with earlobes and cotton balls,
below bellowing blossoms and star fall paddling in the breeze.
– Rachel R. Vasquez, October 2016
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2 thoughts on “Seasonal Poems”
Now here’s an interesting phrase: “The blond-ing rabble”I don’t quite get it, I’m British for my sins.
No worries. I live by the botanical gardens and there’s a lot of greenery in the Bronx neighborhood where I’m located. Come autumn, most of the trees become a golden color, hence the “blond-ing”, and I was inspired to think of them as a mob. There were a few singled out trees that were fiery and orange, hence the flushing and copper pennies. The trees were also shedding some stringy looking golden stuff that made me think of hay. 🙂 And so that first poem came about.