LATELY, I HAVE BEEN DREAMING OF VAN GOGH'S LAST PAINTINGS
The wheat fields and sky and
Thunderstorms: the churches and empty
Still life - now, when I fall asleep
There are tables and bottles, and perfect
I have been dreaming about
Sandstone cottages and
Women adorned in red ribbons:
They call me by my name, to come
Bend to the roots and the
Soil beneath morning, the
Sun a halo.
"What I love is near at hand/Always, in/Earth and air." - Theodore Roethke
You're a foreign star or a
Small round stone;
A letter that never made it home,
You're half-hitched bones pale as
A fragile birch, a soundless bell.
You're a haunted house in a
Another bankrupt Indiana farm
And a handful of words,
A secret rhyme.
You're a clock that had no use for time -
Love, you're more than blonde and
Still blue eyes;
Rhonda C. Poynter has lived in 45 states and three countries, but remains partial to her Chicago roots. She has been a freelance writer for over twenty years with credits including Wascana Review, Frontiers, The Lake, Sleet, vox poetica, Triggerfish, Fox Cry, Freshwater, Red Fez, Blue Bear Review, Minnetonka Review and other publications. Her second collection of poetry, "Borrowed Time" has a tentative print date of Autumn, 2016. She and her son Gannon Blue live in California for medical care, and because being able to see the ocean on a daily basis can only make everything all right.