I say hello,
you say goodbye —
the Beatles said it for us .
Hello, I must be going —
Groucho led the chorus.
The rub is plain ‘mid kith and kin
— we do not want to bore us —
does Hello? end or does it begin?
Please listen, we implore us.
Thanks more to the S.W. Berg Archives.
Between the dark and the daylight —
not Longfellow’s evening pause —
comes the afterglow of daybright
September’s twilight bows.
Undulant gentle autumn air,
rocking-chair safe, home-cozy,
whispers bugs out from somewhere
to play their ring-around-rosy.
with my huge red eye
how you do so
up and in
while you are stuck
out of luck
sucked into retail shivaree.
Thanks again to the S.W. Berg Archives!
on garden sleeve
September’s pied salute
autumn’s brilliant breve.
but it was real
at the tippy-top of the branch
the come-hither of autumn!
O, blessed rouge!
Did the neighbors think it strange that the weird old lady with the camera
(that would be me)
danced in a circle, druid-like, around the puny maple in her back yard?
Not any more.
And, no, I never over-react.
I stood with the happy dirt of the garden in my knuckles
noted the sky
at my singular place:
that lavish snowy dowager cloud
its raiment billowing winglike across the blue
was only that.
This was no explosion, no fire, no loss of home or life.
It was just a cloud.
I stood and thought about that.
Why am I so blessed? And what do I do about it?
On this International Day of Peace, I wish you, dear reader,
a moment of peace
and insight into what we do with it.
The creekside frou-frou
in the park
disdains the looming cold,
in yellowing green
with brooch of saffron gold.
I try very hard
but get even behinder.
Another danke to the archives of S.W. Berg.
We started today with a manhunt. Police cars, helicopter, sirens,
and there on the news an aerial view of my neighborhood from that helicopter:
flashing red and blue lights and school buses,
homes with breakfast lights golden through the crepe of morning gray.
How like a transient shadow
the illusion of safety.