Oddments

In search of story


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August 12.20: Coping

Morning came

too quietly,

neither chirp nor trill,

but only cicada’s

serrated drone.

A very timid cricket

tuned his small pipe.

There I stood,

knee-deep in July,

prickly and unsure,

so restless was the quiet.

Now the dark of August nights

and no firefly winks.

The Green Heron blats

like fallow French horn

once or twice a day,

and maple leaves,

scorched,

bleed at their edges.

Do I imagine

the urgency?

Time is out of sorts,

as am I.

 

 


6 Comments

November 11.19

In loft of branch,

salute

to drummed stepping,

ghosts now.

In iron root,

duty,

grief-sealed

in the clay.

In fallen leaves,

acorns.

In shade of history,

children.

 

 

The grand oak tree on the old parade grounds,

Fort Benjamin Harrison, Indianapolis, IN.

More thanks to photographer S.W. Berg, CAPT, MC, USN (Ret).

I wish you a thoughtful Veterans’ Day, dear reader.

 

 


9 Comments

November 8.19

The colors of autumn astound me

a Beethoven’s Ninth for my eyes.

But despite all the many I’ve seen

there is ever the joy of surprise.

 

Picture the brave if arthritic photographer, dear reader, falling over the furniture trying to get a shot of this little guy without scaring him off. If he’d hold still, the camera wouldn’t focus. If the camera behaved, he flitted away. At great cost to my person and the order (such as it is) in my house, I got him! It doesn’t take much to make me feel like Clyde Beatty.

 


6 Comments

November 1.19

Apple walnut cinnamon pie,

winter oven, my, oh, my.

Syrup’d slices, cinnamon dust

rise through nose to memory’s must:

oilclothed table, rolling pin,

floured apron, floor and chin,

pigtail peelings, glowing stove,

maybe nutmeg, maybe clove.

Coming in from bitter world,

boots well stomped and scarf unfurled,

amber warmth starts deep within

like radiator through my skin.

Kitchens of the long-ago,

swathed in early evening snow,

hug me still because I spy

apple walnut cinnamon pie.

 

Huzzahs and thanks to photographer S.W. Berg,

and kudos to dessert chefs at McCormick and Schmick’s, Virginia Beach, VA.

What memoried fragrance arises from this photo!

As this hectic season hurls us into next year,

I wish you, dear reader,

some sanity from a warm and spicy kitchen.

 

 

 


6 Comments

October 23.19

Chin up, people say,

and thus we raise our vision,

but the stoic looking up

can result in sad omission;

next our toes, ‘mid last year’s leaf,

in stature seeming humble

littleness abounds

in comfy forest crumble.

We can ill afford to slight

the low and lofty mixed:

balance is decreed

sky and ground betwixt.

 

More thanks to photographer S.W. Berg.

 


5 Comments

October 9.19

October rain,

like dirty lace curtain,

makes me look twice,

dubious, uncertain;

I can’t be seeing

what I think I see:

spring blossoms

on the crabapple tree?

It must be raining

an optical illusion;

there can’t be such

botanical confusion.

Petals of pink

as winter descends?

Is there something afoot

this anomaly portends?

The year just gets weirder

as rains turn to snow;

I’d ask “what next?”

but I don’t want to know.