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Is It Soup Yet?

A Poem by:

Patricia Fritsche

Colourful Bar


Copyright shall at all times remain vested in the Author. No part of the work shall be used, reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the Author's express written consent.

What goes on in the pungent,

herbal, marinated mood

of a summer solstice?


Conditions rendered just right,

for a pot belly heart

of its speciality.

The senses transcend a particular space and time.


Grass and leaves take on a sheen

slipping on daily twin colors

bright to brightest,

for the musical opus in mellow,

malachite green begins.


A reading from the trees

some kind of music is transpiring backstage.


Tickling at the branches their receptive side

from head-to-toe.


Marching onward to a grand scale of heated

breaststroke desires.


The leaves know of it well.

The katydids are whistling up a serenade.


And, even down below, stirring to the other side of earth

the cricket charm carries on, too;

immersed in the artfulness of the season.


The encompassment

of nature's aura with her open agenda,

perks up the life of an intuitive squirrel

in his habitable home,

in the patent sanctum of her shadows.


As we get lost sometimes

in our own confusion of mixed signals.


A stroll in the woods their directive rings proud

in the music nature bestows.


The clearness in a basic need is felt,

a melody to soothe a wayward heart.


To really commune with all levels of one purpose

in that alone,

we can all relate past our organic system.


To a chord in insect major

the lawn a cushioned seat

for them all.


The epoch is there our musky mentor.

Pick one of a mutable value

in a forest of such insight and savor.


When going through our individual contrasts

we face as humans,

becoming whole again with the spirit of it all.


The Hootie Owl confirms and seals

the captured moment, if there.


A sentinel with a message

who really listen tastefully,

in all of this transitory life.


Patricia Fritsche
Copyright © 2000

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