I was brought up and still live in the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia so I rely on imagery derived from the natural landscape to explore human relationships. My wife, Elizabeth, and I have two daughters and three grandchildren. I have been an architectural woodcarver for over 35 years and have written numerous articles and three books on the subject. My poetry has appeared in Shenandoah, Green Mountains Review, The Lyric, The South Carolina Review, Southern Poetry Review, and others.
In dawn’s picaresque, raspberries are
ravishing in their crimson velvet,
so, on Aurora’s whisper, they let
me pluck them like love’s first star.
My hat is maxed to the bursting
brim and, straw-woven in herringbones
like a lattice overloaded with roses, groans.
A handful tasted begs a deeper thirsting.
Underfoot, a rug of poison ivy
is unnoticed among the grabby canes,
but pricked, my excitement wanes,
untimely ticks unfelt, upward crawl,
to suck and savor newly sweetened me—
Love’s grave undoing, its earthy brawl.
©2016 Frederick Wilbur