The Poppy Pods

Charles Greely

The poppy pods
lie still beneath the tulips
till all the Prima`Donnas
have their full day

Bright bulbs pale
petals blown in the wind
ruddy skin gone a`winter
green blade spent

One hardly sees
the soft green lace arising
little children out of caves
as if out of hiding

Till one day in May
all the poppy pods explode
here there and everywhere
they weren’t planted

Beneath the missiles
all the world’s children wait
world war will have its day
as the poppies return


About Peter Notehelfer

I'm a retired people person who now finds the time to watch the little details of the world without worrying about being watched by anyone . . . I live on an Island north of Seattle with my wife named Ellen, a yellow dog named McGee, a yellow cat named Gatzby, and four fine chickens . . . I read fiction, bake bread, smoke salmon, and fish whenever the weather allows . . . Oh, and yes, I try to write a poem every day simply to avoid senility!
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