Connections: June 5.17

Sometimes when I’m out

playing in the dirt

I see things so beautiful

they almost hurt.

 

 

 

Connections

Connections: April 4

Ah, the April fireside

what could be more cozy

as the gentle breath of spring

turns my cheeks all numb and rosy?

As fluffy flakes of snow

pile on the daffy-down-dilly

and twinkling dabs of frost besmirch

emergent spears of lily,

what’s a gardener to do

but sulk at fireplace

and contemplate her chilblains

instead of pansy face?

More thanks to the S.W. Berg Photo Archives.

Connections

How wet is it?

Summerwet
this air of spring
porridge-thick
heavy
choking

Cats and dogs
they say
the rain pelted,
slowed to lazy,
now hovers
in drip
and wilt

Free facewash
no towel
— patience —
awaiting
bug lick

Too wet
to stand
too heady
the quaff
not to nod over
into mud bath

Too wet
not to clamber
curling
from lightless places
through cracks
holding to
burled
pebbles

Wet enough
for changeling
— lily to bromeliad —
slurping rain
downleaf
for safekeeping

Wet enough
to gather
midrib
mercurial domes
quaked
by breath
of showery breeze

Against a thirsty future
the earth gulps
and saves

Meanwhile
a rainbow

Centerpiece madrigal

Berry once red white round
now too-soft browned
Sing phoo

Lily once queenly starred
now bowing inward
Sing phoo

Dianthus once dimpled frilled
now succumbing shrivelled
Sing phoo

Mum once primly fluffy-petalled
now matted time-riddled
Sing phoo

Christmas is over.
Sing phoo, sing phoo.