Bees, Garden, Hidden, nature, roses, Thorns


Take my hand sweet wind,
moist Spring of sky.

Wipe my arms with beads, with trickles;
with ancient evaporation.

Bring me closer to my touch and
reveal what remains.

Hidden places.

Barry Comer 2010 – Illustration 2015

Fine-tuning the creation (tender balm of nights forever)

Art, beat poetry, bread, Cafe Sketches, church, color, easter, Flowers, God, hand, roses

Regime formed
and angels carved,
with weathered freeze;
lay down.

They stare from stone
unmoved, eyes glazed;
toward them.

the creationKnowing the end,
sentimentality and
forever cries, of wilt.

The birth never shown,
mirrored and viewed;
with six handed grips.

Release your lips
and sip my kiss,
lay lambs in flowers;
tender balm of
nights forever.