The dark glistens mid-day
and raindrops
the size of watermelons
plop
on the plump of August.
Soon September.
The dark glistens mid-day
and raindrops
the size of watermelons
plop
on the plump of August.
Soon September.
In elephantine pirouette
I dance around my deck
bending, leaning, stretching
twisting leg and neck
camera poised and ready
in effort all agley’d
to capture in mid-flight
a wispy floating seed.
It can’t be seen by others
observers might be flummoxed
wondering what I’m chasing
delusional and lummoxed.
I cannot get a focus
on ary single one
the geranium sighs and whispers
I’ll show you how it’s done:
you stay quite still and quiet
don’t let on you care
and it will come to you
like silvery tickly air.
Oneupmanship rages
in late garden staples:
the geranium will not be outdone
by the maples.
reached out
distilling itself from life’s blur
hailed us
this is it.
Thanks again to the S.W. Berg Photo Archives.
who messes me up no end
she jumbles my cranium
with pelargonium/geranium
and sends me ’round the bend.
say I should have a pet.
Little do they know
I have the best one yet.
Meet my pet geranium:
content in sunny latitude
it contemplates the weather
in vaguely feline attitude.
It may not twitch a tail
nuzzle, wag, or purr,
but I don’t have to walk it
or vacuum up its fur.
My friends are quite like-minded
and, taller than they by half,
is their twining placid rosy
pet bougainvillea giraffe.
With thanks again to the S.W. Berg Photo Archives.