Poetry of P.L. Frederick
Humming Field
A field, warm
bubbles over
round red clover
singing song,
greenleaf song,
winding wood airs
transparent wings
zig over zag
under bloom,
animal stripes
land the open
blossom, pad
across long-shag
six percussion
toes thrum against
living carpet
one honey bee
her brown body
a living hum
a humdinger
of a hum.
Parade
Wasps parade
round the rusty steel door.
Buzzing kazoo band
six stepping
in buoyant circles.
Last summer
their veteran parade marshal
stung me twice
for straying beyond the sideline.
She was tight waisted
black armored and expert
at the precise use of her long sharp baton.
I yelped away
scooted far away.
She accepted this apology.
Today
carefully shut
behind the safe end
of the creaky old door
I peek out
I admire
I know my place.
Downward Dog
Parched dust gloms to her fur
a mist of powdered straw dulls her dark overcoat
fogging up the shine.
Rolling in last year’s stems
she’s a farm dog now
wild fed, sand slept, flead, and full-time.
Finding adrenalin in the dirt
she twists quick, flaps into the wind
and blinks her one-walk-a-day, feed-me-twice eyes.
Reel
Reel it in,
the belonging, the being, the yearning
for every moment farther
and nearer than the reach
of two steady arms.
P.L. Frederick is an art and design director in the consulting field who lives in eastern Massachusetts and writes for various outlets, including newspapers and her own weblog, Small & Big, where she promises ‘an amusing story to lighten your day.’ Her email address is hello.smallandbig@gmail.com.