Lavina Blossom
“Witnesses”
Inspiration piece

Wanderer
By KJ Hannah Greenberg
Response

Sure as primal formations placed, I’m a wanderer.

True as heaven’s dear clemency, it’s my lot to seek:

Clarity, a right way, a pure route, an upright path,

Stone corridors, timeworn highways of faulty glass.

Under starlit pavilions, afar of cloudy protections,

I meander hills, vales, mounds, horizontal grounds,

Nigh plateaus famous for feral, also wild watchers,

My dreams till, as I yet dwell as fallow’s daughter.

In chasing boulevards all seasons, orphaned of home,

Each time dancing breezes rouse this hoary roamer,

I pace past sunshine, alongside fresh blooms’ show,

Inhaling, quick, all spoken that nature might bestow.

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Lavina Blossom
“Blame the Wind”
Response

On Hanging Laundry
By KJ Hannah Greenberg
Inspiration piece

On hanging laundry, it’s possible

To grasp endemic societal concepts,

Remember necessary detailed instructions,

Stand upright during intermittent maelstroms

(“Sunbeams” of transformation, notwithstanding).

Given padded bras’ hubristic quality,

Gasping, those landed clothes line fish,

Eructations usually sourced to tighty whities,

Ambuscades set up by cotton diapers drying,

Reveal nothingness of perched birds’ opprobrium.

Flung helter-skelter among wooden pins,

Tea towels’ puerile philosophies, blankets’

Infantile attitudes, as gagged by prevailing winds,

Sun-kissed sheets’ pastiche posturing with mittens,

Let bluing, bleaching, fading away, fully stop on clear days.

Consider, washing machines that engage contrite acts,

Sit up and roll over, otherwise retain functional sentiment,

Reach into their own tribes for proxies, three speed adjustments,

Epigraphs printed on detergent cartons, lost socks, missing hope.

Even after granting lifetime warrantees, hoary things break down.

Ebullient practices propel, fling denizens far from beneficence,

Deter wicker baskets from being punnets enough for all gathering,

Let skivvies blow over fences, T-shirts fly to conjured freedoms,

Use odd smiles to posit the advantage of running away.

Some clothes need a little loving on the side.

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Note: All of the art, writing, and music on this site belongs to the person who created it. Copying or republishing anything you see here without express and written permission from the author or artist is strictly prohibited.

Lavina Blossom, Needs

Response

Making Whole Hive Mead

The hive was dying anyhow:
the queen laid only sterile eggs,
though scouts still scanned the fields
for purple beesbread,
almond trees in bloom.
The workers  kept  carving out
their perfect hexagons, marble-white
cathedrals  filled with golden light.
So veiled and suited, we first
boiled the water in a cast iron pot,
then caught the bees up in a smoky
stupor,  hive humming
like a chapel full of monks.
Too stunned to even swarm,
they kept their posts, fanning
the queen,  who barely stirred.
On our knees before the hive,
we paid her court, lifted out
the frames, emptying the hive,
honey, bees  and all,
into the pot, a catastrophe
of broken bodies, melting wax.
We kept on crushing corpses
with a spoon, until the cloudy brew
had cleared to amber, tasting
of summer fields, but with a sting.
We raised our cups like lords, and drank
to time and fermentation, bringing
everything at last to proper sweetness.

Robbi Nester

Inspiration Piece

Note: All of the art, writing, and music on this site belongs to the person who created it. Copying or republishing anything you see here without express and written permission from the author or artist is strictly prohibited.