67

 

Who would think

that after decades of child's play

decades of seeking

and finding that

surprises would still

lurk around the corner

down the path

in the corners

and along the edges

of life?

[Both flowers and the insect are ones that I have never seen before. In fact, the insect, a Red-necked False Blister beetle, (what a name!) can only be seen briefly, barely a month, in this New England area. The flowers are Trout Lily and Blood Root.]

Full Moons

wolf and snow moons howl

but the silent worm moon slinks sullenly alone

pink, flower, and strawberry lead life to summer

where the buck and sturgeon strut their stuff

harvest comes wrapping up the work with the full corn

then time to bundle up for the hunters and beaver to battle

until the

cold

moon

shines

ice

ice crumpled crocuses 

late April snow echoes winter -

not to bounding buck

"tiny habits"

tiny habits:

yet another prescription for the formulary

to spur motivation

worthy of microscopic celebration

sounding so simple

stick a task onto a prompt, party

until the alphabetical acronyms kick in

eye-glazing, ear-shutting, demotivating

just tack it to the list:

     incentivize

       gamify

      ritualize 

       repeat

   make a deal

   make it real

        bujo

        flow

        slow

        . . . .

Peace

seeking how something

disappeared without a trace ~

that sought now forgotten

Gardening with the Animals

Spring is here

with premature warmth:

Ice Pansies and Johnny Jump-ups

beckon me to forget

that we did have snow

in April

       on tulips . . .

but the Jump-ups are planted.

Now bargain-basement

hosta and caladium bulbs

whisper to me

and I fall for their siren call,

plant them appropriately

in the 'partial sun/shade' bed . . .

out back . . .

where the deer frolic

who find fresh hostas

irresistible;

where one chipmunk has lived

for our five years here

in the exact same flower bed,

unearthing annuals

placed

on inauspicious spots

where a hole must be

to release the chi.

Chipmunk Chores

berries

    run

sumac seeds

run

seed mix

               run

butternuts

       run

acorns

            run

eggs

run

mushrooms

        run

worms

run

fast food stop?

bird nestlings

mouse pups

            run     run     run

stop for nap

under leaves

while hawk circles

                       run                                 run

                run         run

run

run     run:

dig seven more holes

dive

sleep

nibble cache

repeat

Reservoir

Not Pompeii

but

the dead

were raised

and moved

to a new

cemetery, 

and

the living

were ousted

out of four towns

to parts

unknown;

not ash

but

water

412 billion gallons

of it

over 

razed

deaths

and lives.

Prey ("Fib" style poem: 1-1-2-3-5-8 syllables)

shadow

sheers

plunges - reaches

so many holes

pick one  - white lightning fast

bolt below - beyond terrifying talons - dust rises sinks

Behind on NaPoWriMo but . . .

    Here is my "personal universal deck" from Day 3. It took a while to scribble out words. Then I wanted to connect it to my ongoing art/day-to-day/everything journal. White spaces were made using tape (technique discovered online) and instead of quotes, I wrote in my words. Discovered that I can come up with visual, sound, touch/texture, action words - no problem, but smell and taste words I needed help and did some word list searches. (The "Reawaken" is April's theme for my journaling group, in this case, reawaken 'play.')

 

Liminal

To the scientist: ecotone

Transition zone between habitats

field and forest

fresh water and salt

sea and sky

by definition

richer than each zone alone

To clock watchers: Twilight and dawn

transitions between day and night

shapeless blurs that

defy precise timekeeping

time to go home?

stay longer?

rise and shine, or slump and refocus

Edward Hopper's

"Early Sunday Morning"

hour imprecise

while sleepers dig deeper under covers?

or wash up reluctant to leave for church?

or awake waiting

for the first Sunday paper customer?

Liminal space:

sink through this 

where there is

neither here nor there

in nor out, up nor down

nowhere to go nor stay

wondering: is there a next?

Vigil

trill

crackle

whirr

whisper

hush

twilight

            falls

silence

awaiting

The

rising

wind

windows crackle

wind knocks at the door

mumbles moving away

lingers over the hill

swaggers forth and back

holds its breath

invisible

suspended

overloaded

lashes out

shoving

away

spring

(revisiting my verse from 6/16/20)

Prompted to

Step outside

See the world in a new way

Enforced to

stay inside

a year ago:

nature took matters
into its own hands . . .

the atmosphere
breathed clean

The air cleared

of human clouds

but oh so briefly

too soon

the clouds returned.

the meek determined
to inherit the Earth

Curious sheep, cows, goats, kangaroos

crept urban streets

sci-fi silent:

the meek have returned home.

justice overruled
rulers and the cruel

Efforts were made but

the struggle continues

power rises and falls

crushing justice.

a new beginning
with peace on Earth
in a world
without end

Howling wind and rain

Spring returns

struggling to scour nature

free of fire and force.

Easter rising . . .