In harvest bronze the morning sun
gilds the whorling dill:
the year is old but be it known
that there’s a new day still.
And newness goes with every seed
into a time unknown,
bearing fragile hope
from the present that we own.
Tag Archives: seeds
Disconnections: August 14.18
Zinnias in tatters
petals all strewn
who done the deed?
what marauding poltroon?
When I glimpsed the bright sneak
I recanted my whine
my old friends have found me!
the garden’s more mine.
Please pardon the slight haze, dear reader. I had to nab this shot through the window.
Connections: May 10.18
A gardener’s patience is saintly
trained in Nature’s way
and that’s how on recent occasion
you might have heard me say:
Hey, lazy seeds, what’s your problem?
Where are my beautiful flowers?
You’ve been tucked in and watered
for well over forty-eight hours!
Connections: September 25.17
It’s leggy and seed-headed
brown where once was green
but the garden this September
is the best I’ve ever seen.
My pear tomato plant
bedecked like Christmas tree
has survived in gold and gaudy
ponderosity.
Connections: September 8.17
It’s seed time
spikes and silk
nose-ticklers
piercing
dry
impatient
splinter rain
silent thunder
of change.
More thanks to the S.W. Berg Photo Archives.
Connections: August 26.17
Dill feathers
butterfly tickles
dill seeds
crock of pickles
dill bones
pinwheel spindled
tale of life
ripening, dwindled.
Connections: August 17
Once upon a time
it all was green and yellow
brilliant, supple, showy
like my caterpillar fellow.
Now it’s tones of wood
brittle requiem
but chrysalis, seeds attest
death is just pro tem.
Connections: April 28
Yellow-green cataracts
stopped mid-spill
poised
in sun-glint
until
air-splashing
they reel away
in lime-hued
tumbling
rill.
Connections: November 17
Autumn tulip
chambered cup
goblin’s basket
for picnic sup.
Woven cradle
comfy bed
seeds will sleep
snow-blanketed.
Connections: November 5
Beribboned by old flutter
sated with summer’s breath
heralding winter’s shudder
in seeded graceful death.
