On This Soft Morning

 Bird house on the porch;
A nice home made piece of work;
(Never houses birds).

 

Rain shine on the leaves--
Footnote in the rising sun,
Of what is no more.

 

 Vines on my mailbox
Provide free decoration.
(It's poison ivy?!)

She stops for a talk;
He plops down on the road,
Any chance he gets.

Leaves fall so swiftly
I cannot photograph them.
(Must be camera shy).

Hand in hand they walk
Gently touching each other
On this soft morning.

Through the road it pops--
Feisty, tiny baby plant;
Complete with shadow.

Tall trees are bowing,
Worshiping the gentle breeze,
As we must do.

Last Rites of Summer

It's much colder now;
Really time for a light coat;
Sun's breaking slowly.

 

 My thoughts are buzzing--
Paranoia fantasies;
Time to go walking.

Sweet, the sun rises;
Shadows against the white house;

Hens cluck fervently.

It looks more brilliant:
Goldenrod in morning light;
Birds chatter in sky..

Lightly floating down,
Dry leaf whispers to the ground;
A lone crow cries high.

Humming in the bush:
Thousand bees suck the flowers--
Last rites of summer.

Sprinkled in the green,
Dead white leaves dot the fir tree--
Friendly reminder.

A million diamonds
Light up the grass near the road:
Treasures of the dew.

 

Trees Hold the Darkness

 

A grumpy wake up;
Still the mugwort is flowering;
(Doesn't need my help).

The sun is subdued,
And I am following suit;
Who needs brightness?

On the weathered barn,
Window hole like eye socket,
Staring sightlessly.

Darkness slides over
As blue gray clouds rule the sky;
Still, the sun shines through.

Singing his dog song,
Pooch yips at me behind fence.
I guess he's happy.

Iona is bored;
The grownups are just talking.
"Why am I waiting?

Large dappled brown leaf
Reclining at the road's edge--
A flag of Autumn.

As shadows vanish
The woods become mysterious--
Trees hold the darkness.




 

Texture I Can't Touch

Brisk breeze, falling leaves;
Sun light dapples on the leaves.
All is crisp and cool.

 

 Shadows in the leaves;
Layers and layers of light;
Texture I can't touch.

 In shade at field's end
Wire fence seems to disappear;
(Or maybe it's me)

 

 Backyard wilderness--
A riot of growing things.
Nature is unplugged.

 

The tinkling stream
Is obscured by foliage;
Just its sound remains.

 

 When the shadows move
The wind whispers behind them
Urging them forward.

 

 Pointing toward the sky
Sumac stands tall on its limb:
Violet erection.

 Heads always bowing
Timothy sways in the breeze,
Worshipfully devout.

What's the Meaning of "Month"?

 

First of September--
Still, high leaves glow in the sun.
(What's the meaning of "month"?)

 

  I sit looking out;
Spider races across floor;
I crush, without thought.

Labor Day Sunday;
Boy on bike smiles to himself;
Now the sun breaks through.

Solitary leaf
Has become a pale yellow--
Leader of the pack.

Prickly thistle bush
Has become a dead brown husk;
All the puffs have fled.

In thick leaves' center:
Small yellow flowers emerge--
Autumn blooming.

Through the dim lit trees,
Patch of sunshine in the woods;
Light beyond the dark.

How many dishes
Washed in this abandoned sink?
How many chapped hands?