Yin Yang

balance

sound silence

words music

rest churn

work play

distance     compassion

wisdom    forgetfulness

selflessness   awareness

outreach       meditation

anger                  healing

dreaming          engaging

drifting                                settling

peacefulness                    anarchism

beginning                          ending

reflection

Lesson

Absent-mindedly

tried to pour

cold tea

into

a closed jar:

like a mind -

can't fill it

if its

shut.

Elegy

Alas!

My betta of hand-painted glass

has chosen to pass

over the Rainbow Bridge at last

joining my hapless pets of the past . . .

Alas!

Fauna Fantasy

Could have a game of chess

with those stone-still cottontails,

castled behind the fattest gray squirreI

pawns I've seen this side of winter.

The knights, of course,

would be the leaping black cats

who bolted blindly through yesterday's rush hour,

played against the big orange tom chasing them.

Two arrogant crows for swaggering kings

and one pair of brown wrens

beaks upturned

preened to queen over all

would complete the enchanted

faerieland field of battle.

Falling Dark

Night does creep up on you

so

you take a walk to slow the dusk

but

dusk stares back with dull gray eyes

 your

eyes feel the dark for edges

lost

edges melded into dark forms

  fluttering

forms that are the shape of night

   whispering

night closes the shades.

More

wrinkles

dust

cobwebs



suspended droplets of rippling mist

miniature prismatic rainbows

ragged tiers of shimmering feathers



two-faced gift:

eyeglasses

Impatience

yesterday

planted my vegetables portable

today

spent the day fretting over the north wind

tonight

toted the baby kale and cabbage onto the porch

tomorrow

may admit to premature gardening

Wind-Whipped April

Oppositional birds scuffle in wing to wing combat  . . .

Manic squirrels shoot to shelters . . .

Groaning trees cast off extra baggage . . .



          What's this Cold Slap in the Face,

                          Montreal Expressing Itself,

          Cold Snap to Attention,

               Wind-chilled Whirling?

          Is Spring suffering

              from some Hypothermic Polar Vortex?



Call in a 911 . . .

Process to the nearest warm exit . . .

Resuscitate Spring!

         

Storm Front

Dark night slides silently in from the east

leans hard against the last light of day

till it bleeds red and gasps its last.

Brief Spring

Winter's silence is past.

Summer's roar abounds.

Growling engines circle

ready for the kill

of spring's delicate music.

note to self

at a point

the point is not

what to give up but

what is worth keeping

Ark

Two pastoral cottontail rabbits nibbling at dawn

two brazen grazing geese at ten

strutting crow duet at noon

geese duo back at two for tea

and a mallard pair, wings tight to their sides,

strolling the road and perusing the pond

in the late afternoon.

Most of the day

an orderly ark of animals

until dusk when

innumerable peepers trilling

countless wood frogs quacking

and inestimable mosquitoes buzzing

raise the question

how did Noah limit them to two?

Best Intentions

I had the best intention

of crafting a particular poem,

quite artsy and all . . .

thought about it all the way home

but . . .

The nuthatch

has chosen to build a nest

in the hollow of the tree

behind our house.

Tuxedoed gray and black and white

the dapper bird

darts

           swoops

                              and

                                         stops.

It forays back and forth

from trunk to trunk

returning to

its

                     one

                      specially

                      selected

                       hollow.

Not to intrude

but . . .

Isn't the opening too large?

Isn't the hole tipped back so much

that rain will pour in

at the end of your busy day?

Isn't that bark

rather sharp and hard,

rather than soft and feathery,

not at all like a nursery?

And what are you seeking now

scurrying up and down

the arboreal avenue

of your nesting tree?

Have you forgotten

what you were up to

just a moment ago?

But my best intentions

are lost, as is most advice.

The nuthatch bustles down and up,

oblivious to gravity

and the gravity of its situation.

Yesterday's Verse

Be late

Early is for the worms

Late is better than never

After all

To try to write

Each and every

Day



is



a



S

T

R

E

T

C

H

 .

Wild Turkey

you

are

so

much

more

than

the

wobbly

tracing

of a small hand

crayoned with an autumn rainbow

of brown, yellow, black, and white:

in the feathers of true life

you are iridescent

copper and bronze

shimmers shifting

under the setting sun

 much               taller

                          than a             child's                         

hand               and

  stoically             stubborn

    taking            your own

grand                 time

      crossing            ever so     

  slowly             slowly

 this sun           spattered

back                                   road

Returning Home

lurching and
lumbering

laden with
tote bags and clumsily scuffing rocks

oblivious to
the graceless

one delicate
nuthatch tips and sips from the spring

late walk

last silent blush of sunset

an unexpected sight

crisp loud leaves burst and crackle

echo rabbit's flight

Why Writing Without a Dog Is Much Harder

. . . fewer
interminable trips outdoors

where the
air has actual oxygen in it . . .

no startling
cackles from the avian inhabitants

of this chilly,
leafless, gray habitat . . .

a low expectation
of anything mysterious rising, dripping

from the dark,
still water thawed from winter ice . . .

no 'la-de-dah' ambient wind chimes twinkling enchantment

to generate meditative,
self-important inner thoughts . . .

no falling
dusk

rising moon

mid of night

dawn of day

just

halogenic

fluorescent

battery-powered

LED

available
24/7

mind-numbing
light

glaring from

the computer
screen’s

blank page
--

its cursor

blinking

maddeningly

patient

in blind |

               |

               |

               |

expectation.

Not Only Us

Winter weary

water-slick

the beaver

has come ashore

seeking spring.

He huddles at the water's edge

settling for some dry reeds remaining

but even from this meager meal

he pauses . . .

rises up

paws mid air . . .

sniffs

yes . . .

and just stands there

motionless . . .

spring is here at last.

Not Everyone's Harbinger of Spring

The skunk cabbage has sprouted

in the low, wet woods --

a small hamlet has formed there.

Curious, carnivorous heads

peer through moss trimmed windows,

squint at the afternoon sun,

size up the forecast

for winged things flitting past

to fathom

whether unfurling fully

is yet worthwhile.

Still Life with Mist

Missing in the mist,

leafless treetops;

mist on the move,

creeping clouds:

wetting the fur

of pussy-willows

wiping their silvery noses

with each other's paws

in the breeze;

mist draping majestically over

the Great Blue Heron,

and rolling down

the mated geese;

mist dripping into ripples

on the gray pond;

or is new life

churning up from below,

beneath the beavered trees?

traffic report

I'm barely awake but

already the traffic is flying:

early birds rushing the worm.

Juncos

gray-suited archaeologists

perusing winter-fallen seeds

gleaning warm spring's revelations

Fiscal Entropy

So my question was, what is ‘entropy,’ really,

apart from my vague memory that in our universe

everything prefers to dissemble rather than assemble,

thinking that it would be a good image

for reflecting on how we never seem to have enough money

and that which we do have

scatters mysteriously into vast, dark, and undiscovered
corners of our lives . . .

So this was where I was going to start,

by inserting simple
substitutions into a web-dredged definition:

Definition: Money is the quantitative measure of disorder in a
system. The concept comes out of economics, which deals with the transfer of fiscal viability within a system. Instead of talking about some form of
"absolute gold standard," economists generally talk about the change
in virtual money that takes place in a specific economic system . . .

 . . . until entropic
messages randomly engulfed entropy

       disordering it
even further:

10
mistakes to avoid when learning Spanish

Our
experts recommend:

Work

Meet
the animals of the arctic

Want
33% more income?

Why
the Great Wall of China is so important

10
simple questions to identify any insect

5
solar system secrets . . . revealed!

What
are the 10 deadliest dinosaurs?

       (Are they back? Check the weather channel, they're up on disasters.)

How
to lift sagging skin (see below)

What
is quantum levitation and how does it work? (see above)

And so, as usual, any semblance of ‘serious’ poetry

has once more eluded this muse . . .

An Aubade for Work Days

Winter
mornings were starless dark some days,

though some
splashed a sparkle of stars

overhead to
make the leaving worthwhile,

and cold deep
dawns were lit with a startling bright moon

to be stared
at in moonstruck delight.

Barely
spring, some light seeps in early when sleep

would be
more welcome than waking for work;

feeble
weakling glow through curtain corners and those

tiny cord-holes
in Venetian blinds, spots of light peering like

the eyes of
rodents, waiting for a sprinkle of morning breakfast crumbs.

Rising still
sooner summer’s sun splashes a sticky light that

clings to
the bedroom walls and stirs from restless dreams

the sleeper
who paddles through the thick morning air

to breathless
consciousness and a wondering when

winter
mornings were last starless dark.

(NaPoWriMo’s optional prompt for April 6, 2015
was: “Today’s (optional) prompt springs from the form known as the aubade.
These are morning poems, about dawn and daybreak. Many aubades take the
form of lovers’ morning farewells, but . . . today is Monday. So why not try a
particularly Mondayish aubade . . .”)

crocus

       

seasons' crossing

wild wind

ripping March from April

a last minute pruning

of garden Earth

Only Need One

an assortment of unsanitary skulls,

desiccated insects, and

lifeless, colorless lichens

          laid in neatly folded, labeled packets

          must be 50 of those

upwards of 30 corks

     some cork

     some plastic

          going to make something

          with those someday

26 rewriteable CDs

erased 6 years ago

          duly noted on the sticky note

          stuck to each and every case

7 pictures of the

          same dead dog

          same shot

6 shabby spiral notebooks

     lines faded

     edges yellowed

     many pages previously removed

     out of frugality

          note to self:

          I never reuse old spiral notebooks

5 shots of the other dead dog

          enlarged and cropped

          variously

4 crumbling rubber bands

3 stacks of get well cards from students

          have i been sick that long

          so often?

2 broken watches

          both telling

          that it's time to

only need one

of each

if that.

Holding Pattern

Hovering over changes

both controlled and

beyond control

trying to focus on

just

the 

one

plane

ahead

and not how many

 are crowding the sky so precariously

one change taxis to safety

ahead of many more

seeking ground,

hovering

I

wonder

. . .

Memory Stamp

a dinosaur amid digital funds

i enter The Bank

pennies rolled in my pocket

passbook in my purse

it amounts to little

in or of interest

     but

if their digital data dives

down into
oblivion

i have my
paper passport

to not enough money

to pay for much of anything

     anyhow

stamped on
the pages

is more the
memory of money

of entering
The Bank

passbook in hand

peered at by tall tellers

    who

welcomed allowance in but not out

deposited
not debited

not even for
that very special

something

saved up for

weekly plus pennies accrued

over time in miserly interest