Among the Boughs

by Karen Kelsay

Tonight, a slow release of summer rain
sweeps through my pear tree. Gentle is the sound,
a metronomic lullaby that rolls
across each limb and patters on the ground.

Outside my room, traversing streamlets run
along the open pane–I try to count them all.
And leaves are soaked a darker green, while buds
appear to peek between the lattice wall.

The scent of blossoms filters through my screen.
I lie awake, yet, caught up in romance
among the boughs, where whispers hum to me,
and all my evening thoughts have learned to dance.


Karen Kelsay is a native Californian who grew up near the Pacific.  As a child, she spent most of her weekends on a boat. She has three children, two cats and extended family in England, where she loves to visit. Her poems have been widely published over the past few years in journals, including The Boston Literary Review, The New Formalist, The Christian Science Monitor and Willow’s Wept Review. Her first book, Collected Poems, was finished in 2008, and a chapbook, A Fist of Roots, was published by Pudding House Press in January 2009.  A second chapbook of children’s poetry, titled Song of the Bluebell Fairy, will be published later this year.  To visit her website, go here.  To read samples of her verse for children, go here.

4 thoughts on “Among the Boughs”

  1. I like what you have going here, Karen: the “slow release” of image and sound as the poem progresses, just like the rain caressing limb and pane, lattice, blossom, and ground, renewing the world. I especially like how the rhyme scheme isn’t forced, how the language dances across the tongue, compelling readers into an interaction with the scene.

    Thanks for sharing your words with us.

  2. Hi Tyler,

    I try to write at least half my poems in form,
    just to keep it alive out there in the world :)
    Thanks!

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