May Apple Forest

The forest, full of May apples, is spread
Full of flat leaves, dull in the deepest shade.
The single stems sprout circle leaves of jade,
Some singles and some doubles, others dead.
The doubles split the stem in half, the phloem
Uniting where the single flower, white
And nodding, sits — so simple, a delight
As the leaf’s dimple, or a formal poem.
Those who can find delight in simple lands —
In shade, in bright and green sun-open spaces,
As where these green May apples grow — find places
Where peaceful souls like theirs can make their stands.
May apples slowly ripen into yellow,
And sap soothes every soul cool, soft, and…



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Troy Camplin

Troy Camplin


I am the author of “Diaphysics” and the novel “Hear the Screams of the Butterfly.” I am a consultant, poet, playwright, novelist, and interdisciplinary scholar.