Late garden
golden day
velvet-winged
tour jeté
airy footed
graced ballet
August-gilded
matinée.
Tag Archives: marigold
Connections: August 13.17
My family’s in the garden
the past grows ever green
my mom is in the phlox
most surely, though unseen
her dad in the tomatoes
my green-thumbed Grandpa Mauck
son of North Carolina
whose hills rolled in his talk
Grandma O’Hern in moss roses
her summer’s tried-and-true
her son, my dad, in marigold
(the only flower he knew!)
the dill for an unknown
its air a bit of mystery
but I know it figures somewhere
in my leafy family history
I don’t come (as they say) from money
I come more from dirt
so it’s good to feel them back
in horticultural concert.
Connections: July 27.17
A frilly dot of marigold
a snip of lemon thyme
a dainty plume of tarragon
phlox snow at fragrant prime
radiant brown-eyed Susans
Rudbeckia at the crown:
smallness revels in itself
sans the world’s renown.
Connections: July 20.17
Marigolds at twilight
border of hot coals
fevered daytime’s embers
garden’s molten shoals.
Connections: September 22.16
Connections: September 6.16
What to do
when the summer is through
and the garden is all kerfuffle?
Seek golden red
stand on your head
and burrow in marigold ruffle.
Connections: July 13
Yesterday was sticky hot
the air was thick as mush
but I had to grab my camera
and get out there in a rush.
This visitor, this summer sprite,
this unabashed flirt,
demanded my
attentive eye
and mud upon my skirt.
But would he alight, becalm his wings?
Sit still for just a
mo?
No!
He just kept whirring
blurring
flitting to and fro.
I chased that Casanova
’round marigold and bee
and wondered if my neighbors
had a butterfly net for me.
Connections: October 4
In a fit of writer’s pique
covered with rue
boiled in cliche stew
I was blank and bleak.
So I played with objets
autobiographical
optimistically tactical
to find my writer’s way.
Connections: September 23
Glowing coal
burnished epaulet
on garden sleeve
September’s pied salute
to
autumn’s brilliant breve.
