Three Poems by Joan Leotta

 

The Language of a Leaf Bouquet

 

If I send you

a bouquet of leaves

will you think of

this gift of leaves as

a sign of a lesser love

 

lesser than a bouquet of

showy flowers?

 

Or will you

admire each leaf’s colour,

inspect the

tender architecture

of each leaf’s veins?

 

Do you know separated from the

tree they will soon dry and die?

 

Will you see how leaf’s lines

mimic my veins?

Will you see how without your love

flowing to and through

me, I, like these separated leaves

 

will soon be,

a dry leaf, crushed?

 

 

Listening to Trees

 

Trees, strong silent sentinels,

Of the landscape,

rarely speak aloud

except in dialog with

wind, rain,

or an occasional shout

of pain, a cracking noise,

when attacked

by lightning.

 

Seeking homes,

birds and squirrels

revere trees

as archangels

protecting and providing

for them.

 

Every now and then,

However,

when a bird or squirrel

or gentle breeze rustles

leaves, I’m sure

I hear a soft, caring

laughter that can

only have come from

my row of trees.

 

Stormy Day Stillness

 

I look out onto morning’s

rain-soaked ribbon of sidewalk,

emptied of walkers, likely inside,

avoiding the pelting droplets.

By afternoon, sun is

struggling to slipping

through the clouds.

Birds have winged back,

but I am loathe to be the

first of my kind to join

them on the sidewalk

as they peck to feast

on the buffet of crawling

things rain flushed out.

I tell myself, “I don’t want

to scare away my feathery

friends from their dining delights.”

But my inner voice whispers,

“You simply want to remain alone.”

I must admit, I enjoy the absence

of other humans, revel in the stillness.

My going out could

encourage others to spill

out of their houses into

the outdoors and assault

my ears with sounds of chatter,

and the pitter patter, of

their steps, that all this 

would drown out the birdsongs

that will soon follow

the birds’ sidewalk feast.

No, I will stay inside at least

A while longer and

enjoy the lingering stillness

celebrating in my singularity

the small silence that comes

after the storm.

Joan Leotta plays with words on page and stage. She performs tales of food, family, strong women. Internationally published as an essayist, poet, short story writer, and novelist,  she’s a two-time Pushcart nominee, a Best of the Net nominee, and a 2022 runner-up in Robert Frost Competition. Her essays, poems, CNF, and fiction appear in Impspired, Ekphrastic Review, Verse Visual, Verse Virtual, Gargoyle, Silver Birch, Yellow Mama, Mystery Tribune, Ovunquesiamo, Synkroniciti, MacQueen’s Quinterly and many others in US, UK, Australia, Germany, and more.  Her poetry chapbooks are Languid Lusciousness with Lemon, and  Feathers on Stone, published by Main Street Rag. 

Joan Leotta
Author, Story Performer
“Encouraging words through Pen and Performance”

Nominated for Pushcart and Best of Net in 2022

"Feathers on Stone" poetry chapbook available from me and at

https://mainstreetragbookstore.com/product/feathers-on-stone-joan-leotta/

Other Joan Leotta Books

Languid Lusciousness with Lemon, Finishing Line Press (Amazon)

Morning by Morning and Dancing Under the Moon, two free mini-chapbooks are at https://www.origamipoems.com/poets/257-joan-leotta 

For information on my four out of print novels, collection of short stories and four children's  picture books, contact me at this email