sanchopanzalit
- Mar 6
- 1 min read

Bearded Irises

John Muro

On an afternoon adrift

and unmoored by sun,

these beds of irises

betray my grief, long

languishing, ghostly

opulent and eerily

forlorn, even as an

eager earth eases into

Eden. Florid plumes

arc in anguish, and

smoke-soft tongues

leak rivulets of lavender

while hovering standards,

like torn wings,

rise in dappled flutter

above the bereaved

murmur of foraging bees.

Recent Posts

See All

Day’s End, Knockfierna

Oscar McHale The hill is privy to her last, relentless pour, Bathing blades of grass as she rests her golden hair, Entangling, obscuring it among them. Dichotomous to growing shadows merely fleeting,

Archetype

Sandy Carlson “It seems, as one becomes older That the past has another pattern And ceases to be a mere sequence,”* So it seems tumbling through time To Grendel’s lair, where the deep fear Of patternm

Capitulation

John Muro Shoreline is shrinking and the shuttered cottages are ghosted by mists drifting upward from channels of mud-softened marsh like tawdry shrouds that appear more pallid smudge than luminous pe