Roots
An iron fence holds back the cluster of
daisies from falling over the stone wall,
though I have never known daisies to fall
when rooted firmly, below or above.
I wonder when they'll navigate their way
down through the seven feet or so of earth,
then cross beneath the wall, then rise - rebirth!
A daisy where a sidewalk broke away.
I like to think I've given roots that strong
so my children can bloom where they belong.
Poe Valley
From where we sat, the lake below
shone verdant in the mid-day sun,
as if the mossy forest glow
was not a simple reflection
of the surrounding wealth of trees,
but something spread throughout the deep;
much more than what the surface sees,
and what the water means to keep.
Of the surrounding wealth of trees,
but something spread throughout the deep;
much more than what the surface sees,
and what the water means to keep.
A Brief Conversation on the Hierarchy of Incompetent Management
"Listen as the yellow roses
question, in the Full Moon's light,
what he thinks of what he knows is
waiting at the edge of night."
"Is it true that yellow roses
boast when speaking to the Sun?"
"Yes, and each of them supposes
he will be the brighter one."
Dean Robbins is 60 years old and lives with his wife, Karen, in Danville, Pennsylvania. He has earned a B.A. and M.A. from Bloomsburg University of Pennsylvania. His publication credits include Poetry Quarterly, Northeast Poetry Review, Eastern Pennsylvania Poetry Review, The Lyric, Word Fountain, Inside Pennsylvania Magazine, and Ideals, among others. Robbins is a member of the Mill Street Writers in Danville. When neither reading nor writing, he enjoys spending time with his children and grandchildren.