on parting

the bottom of your water bucket broke
mother earth drank the last drops
the moon’s reflection is now heard
in the nightingale’s song

on parting

deep in the worn turquoise chair on the pining knotholed porch
as the sweet mountain song of gently harped rain on green tin roof
as wild white rose petals waltz in twilight’s last breeze
with half closed eyes i drift i dream of you to distant land’s gone

–ron whitehead

The poet pens a few notes on his new work: both poems [above] from nearly completed new collection… spending some time in the country with Mama, after Daddy’s passing. long backroad bicycle rides, nearly done writing new book of short 4-line 1-stanza poems. book and all poems titled same: on parting, the storm generation manifesto, & other poems. We Are THE STORM GENERATION!!!!!!! www.tappingmyownphone.com —Ron Whitehead