Scrying Ghosts

What is your definition of poetry? The definition of poetry is up in the air for me. I can’t decide if I want to define poetry in a way that  includes verse, free verse, or prose poems – to rhyme or not to rhyme. If you’re in the same poetry boat as I am you might want to give the free Coursera online course, ModPo, a try. A new session begins September 10th. This will be my third year exploring all that ModPo offers from Walt Whitman and Emily Dickenson to modern day experimental poetry. There are no tests, and you can watch videos discussions any time you want. Once you’re signed up for ModPo,  you’ll always have access to the vast amount of information.

Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think.


Scrying Ghosts
by Anni Johnson

Ranunculus asiaticus, I found you
at the Frog Pond (not so small,
but largely filled with natural delights).

I spied your effervescent pinkness
in front of the cornbox: clever sandbox
that Mother wanted to play in, but I said, No!

I adored your sweetness – spring fever –
while Ma admired the bananas – crazy, $1 a bunch.
You could almost give them away at that price.

I liked your name. Wordsworth liked
your buttercup form so much
he had it carved in stone.

You reminded me of Shandy –
Tristram, not the drink, but the one
who, as a homunculus, was quite auspicious.

Now homunculus, there’s a thing:
little man at its root grows in darkness – arcane vessel –
like a soul imprisoned in the body.

But you’re Latin ranunculus, not like the little frogs
she once scared us with – they’re not so cute.
Funny you should enter my darkness

to dream forth light from delicate, crepe paper –
thin petals, looking like an origami masterwork
holding salvation.

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