Michael Estabrook


Watching the sky
with all its blue
tumbling down through
branches and leaves of the trees
reaching all the way
to the ground

Morning Glories
In my wife’s garden at dusk bats flit above
azaleas and forsythias while below in the final
moments of twilight paper-thin pink morning glories glow

Bird Feeder
Unknown plants growing
beneath the bird feeder.
I haven’t the heart to clip
or pluck them or cover them over
with mulch because
they’re growing

In the middle of the pinkest bush a single wine-red rose
Monet would’ve thought to paint especially
with a final spurt of color as a bluebird streaks by

Michael Estabrook has been publishing his poetry in the small press since the 1980s. He has published over 20 collections, a recent one being The Poet’s Curse, A Miscellany (The Poetry Box, 2019). Retired now writing more poems and working more outside, he just noticed two Cooper’s hawks staked out in the yard or rather above it which explains the nerve-wracked chipmunks. He lives in Acton, Massachusetts.