Oddments

In search of story


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December 2.20: Coping

The inquisitive vine

must find out

what each bottle

is all about.

It must in tendril’d

curl and twist

make sure that nothing

has been missed.

It knows the truth

herein applied:

nothing’s learned

if nothing’s tried.

 

Happy birthday to D.J. Berg, who can grow anything,

even bottles,

and whose inquisitive vine is a lot like her.

And thanks to photographer S.W. Berg.

 

 


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November 14.20: Coping

The fireworks of fall

though silent be their boom

revel in explosion

of pyrotechnic bloom.

 

 

 

Today is my mom’s birthday, a gardener down to her toes.

She’s long gone to God, but I know she’d love these mums.

She’d also tell me to wipe my feet, the official Mom Greeting.

So happy 102nd birthday, Evelyn Mauck O’Hern!


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October 20.20

My house naps quiet

behind the tree;

the world passes by

obliviously.

The grandeur of

my life within,

curtained by

the daily din,

cannot be guessed

by passersby

who see my house

as small and shy.

My stemmed fine art

goes undetected,

like ruby rose window,

unexpected.

A splendid secret:

who could know

my little house

is Chenonceau?

 

 

 

 


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September 29.20: Coping

Long, long ago,

when I was very young,

there was a folksy ballad

plaintively sung.

“One meatball!”

was the soulful refrain,

and now it recurs,

stuck in my brain.

One rudbeckia

is all that I got,

a full-throated solo

in one flowerpot,

brass grand finale

in luminous ONE

as my garden is close to

officially done.

There’s hint of embrace

in this radiant burst,

a hug for the elders

that all blossomed first,

a farewell to the summer,

and hail to the fall,

singular reminiscence

of one sorry meatball.

 

 

I didn’t ask for this old song to pop into my head,

but my head often does things without my permission.

Besides, for those (few) of you who know this old song,

one ear worm deserves another, yes?