Disconnections: September 27.18

 A window with a view

coveted prize

a break in routine

rest for our eyes

a tree with some posies

quiets day’s din

but sometimes can startle

by looking back in.

We’ve looked back and forth

Crabapple and I

exchanging world views

in the year that’s gone by.

It’s given the kitchen

a leafy embrace

and made my new house

a cozier place.

Lichened old faithful

steadfast and seasoned

shading me from

a world all unreasoned.

There’ve been times in my life

I’ve known a kind tree

that seemed like kin

and companion to me.

Perhaps you, dear reader,

understand what I mean

and also have had

a friend that is green.

 

When I moved in here, almost a year ago, I knew that two trees would have to come down. This crabapple is one of them. Now the arrangements are made, and I can’t help the sadness. It’s been so pretty, wrapping around my little bay window. This place is still not home to me, and the crabapple has seemed to know that. I will miss it.

 

 

Disconnections: September 20.18

“The Attack of the Killer Tomatoes”

I mistakenly thought was fiction

and I planted this year’s pear tomato

with blithely naïve predilection.

Egad, it grew like Jack’s beanstalk

like some overpowering addiction

forcing the zinnias and chives

to bent and yellowed eviction.

Even the pots on the deck

are muttering gruff malediction —

who knew one little tomato

could become such rabid affliction?

 

Disconnections: September 16.18

 

Pond pixels at dawn

play at reflecting

rippling jigsaw

its own dawn confecting.

 

 

Disconnections: September 12.18

 

What light pierces

it fires,

warning the eye:

Look fast —

but a moment’s sun

blazes

through this glowing cup,

this petal’d Chartres.

 

Disconnections: September 11.18

 

Deep is the need

to fill a chair

emptiness

pollutes the air

dissonant echoes

raw and red

make sepulchers

in ashy stead.

 

Remembrance Day 2018

With thanks to the perceptive eye of photographer S.W. Berg.

 

Disconnections: September 10.18

Emmy wanted you to see

what a little girl she used to be,

how she would get all ice-cream-coned

before her skills were practice-honed.

Now that she’s a big girl of three,

she cones a lot more tidily,

avows, it should be here appended,

the ice cream facial is recommended.

 

 

My thanks to the unknown photographer

and to the photogenic Emmy.

 

 

Disconnections: September 7.18

 

Distance

the eternal thing

chimeric lines

converge unseen

in unknown somewhere

sirens sing

the eye goes first

and next the dream.

 

 

Yet more thanks to photographer S.W. Berg.

 

Disconnections: September 6.18

 

The heat is searing

pressing, wet

we’re all bedraggled

impatient, yet

I think I see

that change in light

that vests the world

for autumn’s rite.

 

 

Disconnections: September 4.18

 

When it’s too hot to hum,

there’s nothing to do

but sit on a zinnia

and wish for a brew.

 

 

Every so often, dear reader, I have the urge to add “Burma Shave!”

 

September 3.18

 

A kid with a cone

in raspberry shoes

teaches a lesson

we can all use:

know your priorities

focus, be serious

(a chinload of ice cream

is not deleterious);

practice makes perfect

as life goes along —

if you’re not getting sticky,

you’re doing something wrong.

 

I don’t know who took this picture, but I know that’s Emmy braving the hard work

of learning how to eat an ice cream cone. Sometimes work is indeed its own reward.

Happy Labor Day, dear reader!