Connections: October 31

You know these guys?

Sure you do!

They’re the comic team

watching you.

One is Conscience, the other, Time.

You can’t escape their mocking mime.

Close the window, pull the drape,

but they’re still there to grin and gape.

Morning, noon, and in the night,

they

relentless

ply their blight.

So what to do? How live ever after?

How endure their sadistic laughter?

How return their jibes with jeers?

Reach in the bowl for a Three Musketeers.

More thanks to the S.W. Berg Photo Archives curator, shown in the reflection, staring down the ghouls.

Connections

Connections: October 20

“Come and sit down!

Join us! Oh, do!

But don’t jostle and crowd —

you’ll spill our brew!

I mean tea.

It’s a lovely day

in our private vale

and we’d love to share

our pot of ale.

I mean tea.

Would you care for souffle

made with eggs from our hen?

It’s quite de rigueur

(eye of newt is so then).

How about curry?

Ragout? Chops?

And then a sip of

our homegrown hops.

I mean tea.

We’ve changed our brand,

updated our life.

We’re over and done

with the Thane of Fife.

But will we change our message?

No, we won’t:

doubt more what your eyes see

than what they don’t.”

So I joined them,

neither green-skinned nor cankered,

munching brie

and sipping from tankard.

I mean teacup.

It was delightful,

our repast en plein air,

and I hope to be so welcomed

next time I’m there.

Thanks once again to the S.W. Berg Photo Archives.

Connections

Connections: October 19

Plant bones

groundling star

Boreas blown

 summer’s au revoir.

Connections

Connections: October 18

Amid the woodwinds

grassy ostinato

a solo voice

 rosy obbligato.

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Connections: October 17

,Standing inside a gumball tree,

oh, how ruddy life can be.

I see the world all pink and sweet,

winsome shiny childhood treat.

Or are they bubbles? Maybe so.

How do they hold on and grow?

Do they at end of some fall day

gently let go and float away?

Or marbles?  Aggies by the ton.

Glossy red globes that capture the sun.

I can’t figure what, these dangles glorious;

I can but gawk at such richness arboreous.

Connections

Connections: October 16

“Hey, Bertrand, is that you?

I hate to say it, but you’re blockin’ my view!”

“Go away, Bug — you bother me!

But first give a push on my lower left knee.”

“You’re gettin’ on, Bert. You need to let up.

You don’t have your old go-and-get-up.”

“The gallardia ain’t what they used to be —

it’s gotta be them. I know it’s not me.”

“You’ve put on a few. You’re rounded and stout.

Your legs are rickety and there’s your gout.”

“Bosh and foolery! You don’t know.

You young bugs are all about show.

But fast isn’t everything; life’s not about speed,

buzzin’ and zoomin’ all hawed and gee’d.

So be on your way, revved up and juiced,

but, before you bug off, just give me a boost.”

Connections

Connections: October 15

When my old bones allow

I will still stop and bow

to pick up an acorn.

My obeisance

to mysterious nascence

the hatted tree ready to be born.

Thanks to the S.W. Berg Photo Archives.

Connections

Connections: October 14

Twelve long-stemmed roses —

elegance! thrill!

But can they compare

to a harvest of dill?

Connections

Connections: October 13

Rudbeckia

my garden sun

with solemn bug retinue

flares its last

 silent Taps

in piercing brassy hue.

Connections

Connections: October 12

In drizzle and fog

they

spectral

loom

elfin enigmas

the runes

of the ‘roons.

Thanks again to the S.W. Berg Archives.

Connections