A Fleet of Red Wheelbarrows

Once again, I get to have someone else do my work for me.  The Critical Reading in Poetry class at Aristotle University in Thessaloniki, Greece came up with their own images patterned after William Carlos Williams's famous poem about the white chickens and the red wheelbarrow.  I merely arranged the images in an order that made sense to me.  Efharisto, poli.


       A Fleet of Red Wheelbarrows

So much depends

upon the smile

of your own child

raised with so much pain,

upon children’s

laugher making

their games brighter.

Upon a baby crying

for the first time

Or the weeping child

in front of an empty jar.



The soft and strong hands

that hold you when you

come into life.

The arms that hold you

late at night.

The tears on a mother’s

white cheeks

under a summer sky.

Her cakes smell sweetly

from the kitchen,

the old rusty stove

next to the carved

wooden crook.



So much depends upon

butterflies dancing

in a city’s noisy streets,

standing on a black rock,

or fluttering in the

Amazon rainforest

causing the love

touch of a hurricane

in Shanghai

from a girl’s

green eyes.


Pink lips

dancing gracefully

upon pale skin.

The wet smell of

nature after a storm.

“I love you”

in the middle of

a notsocoldanymore

night. A sweet “Good

morning” kissing

your forehead.

Two hands, bonded

together, going

nowhere because

nowhere else

matters.



So much depends

upon the buzzing

of bees in the vastness

of nature’s valley.

The hummingbird

suddenly silenced by

the sound of a truck

but the tree full

of birds and harmony.

An eagle fights against

the mountain’s wind

to find the silver pearl

in the ocean’s depth.





Red, red kiss

with tightly closed

eyes. Red, red

roses in front

of an old stone house.

A crack letting in a

tiny sunray,

the wind whistling

through an open door.

Our kisses can be heard

in the air, mint and cloves-

sparkling!


So much depends

upon

a red silken scarf

scented with those roses.

A glass of cold lemon

juice while sitting

on the terrace,

or a delicious cake

next to a cup of coffee.

A crimson candle,

aromatic with mystery.

The touch of his lips

on her bare body.

Passionate kisses

smooth and harsh,

bitter and sweet.

Red sweet wine

next to an empty

bottle, broken

but still standing.

How much you

love some people

and how much

you’re going to miss

them.



So much depends

upon

the stinky T-shirt

you left on the bed.

The one way ticket

to Never-Again.

The deafening silence

of an echo – a bitter

sweet good-bye.

A grim, black

heavy curtain;

a withered flower

in a dusty book;

a rainbow in

a glass of

waste water.

How high could

a cherry tree grow

if it’s never cut down?

You’ll never know.



An old clock ticks

on a half-demolished wall.

A magical piano sound

lets you forget,

allows you to heal.

White next to black.

Red next to yellow.

We’ve all been

there.

The moon mirrors itself

in turbulent seas.

I owe my life to nature,

but the living is up

to me.