It's Been a Rough Wind

Clustered sparkles of white
Gather round the flowered bush
That flowers no more.












It's been a rough wind;
Strong branches ripped from the trunk
And hung out to die.

Strutting on the lawn,
Lone hen pecks for some goodies.
(Where are the goodies?)

Stream tinkles softly
Like some delicate plumbing
Gone a bit awry.












White lilacs blooming
Not far from the stone saint's back.
He does not see them.









Sun brings the shadows;
Shadows rely on the sun--
A lasting marriage!












Sports Saab swishes past;
Thick cigarette smell lingers,
Swept away by breeze.

Two baby pine sprouts
Picked a good time to pop up--
Eight months 'til Winter.

Tattooing Heaven

Wind is up again.
There's no electricity;
Nature is in charge.












There are new white weeds;
They don't know they're a nuisance,
But just sit and flower.











Like flowers in Spring
Three teenagers on the lawn
Rolling and playing.

A thin line of white
Moves slowly across the sky
Tattooing heaven.












Patterns on the road
At the behest of the sun
Lie where it is not.












They are free at last:
Seed puffs through Fall and Winter,
Blown in the Spring wind.











First purple lilacs
Bud near the abandoned house;
Wild white blooms nearby.

Large branch cracks, falls;
Green leaves race across the road;
Roaring wind won't stop.

The top of the trees
Shake wildly in the rough wind;
Below, leaves tremble.

What's For Tomorrow?

Bright flecks of sunshine
Expand into swirls of light,
Then hide behind clouds.

Gray clouds take over;
Mabel barks from her dog house;
On road, wind blows cold.

New flowers waving--
Tiny, yellow, full of life.
They have just sprung up.


I put on my gloves;
It's only three days to May.
What's for tomorrow?

Green leaves still growing
In the forsythia bush.
White buds spring open.

Loud chorus of crows
Swirls unseen above the clouds
With birdly passion.

Something white drops near.
Was it a lost flake of snow
Or random bird shit?

My thoughts propel me
Past white blooms and rich earth smell
Into a blank void.

As If To Converse

Sun has just come out
To welcome back at home.;
White blooms on my lawn.


Chipmunk climbs the tree,
Then whirls to the other side.
He has disappeared.

Forsythia blooms
Lie scattered by the road side.
Their time is over.









What are these flowers
Bending over the fence slats
As if to converse?

Today the wind rules,
Blowing the empty red swing;
Rustling the tree tops.









Green grass in the woods
Growing lush and radiant
Has forgot the snow.










Stump buddies in Spring
Seem more frail than in winter.
Light shows through their holes.

Moon is almost full,
Yet bright sun lights up the road.
Quiver in the air.

Shadow on the Fence

Morning breaks gently
Through translucent yellow leaves;
On the shining lawn.

Transformer and hens--
Sounds of Saturday morning,
Humming and clucking.











The goats are waiting;
Sun has risen, they're hungry.
Next door the hens cluck.












Shadow on the fence;
From here it looks like just one--
Dark reclining smudge.









Umbrella leaves hang,
While others open upward.
The sun calls the shots.









Garbage time again;
Green woods are filled with growing;
And trashed old cartons.









More open each day,
Dogwood flowers unfolding
Do it silently.












Where are the children?
The sign is old as they are.
They don't play here now.

Sign Posts of Morning

Rhododendron leaves
Tremble slightly in the breeze;
Pine tree branches bow.










I almost missed them:
Tiny violets on my lawn,
Hiding in the shade.

Still there are bare trees;
Their branches groping upward.
Blackbird sits on top.


The loggers have done;
Road has returned to silence;
Save for birds and breeze.


There's just one bird now,
Calling again and again.
Fire siren screams.












Sharp shadows dancing
Gently on sunlit tree trunks--
Sign posts of morning.












My cell phone buzzes
As I walk past the forest:
New baby is born!












On the bare phone pole
Shiny ivy crawling up
Reaching for the sky.

Whimsy of the Sun

Near the high phone wire
The lilac buds are blooming.
Will there be a zap?

Tub near the barn door;
Rope swing hanging from the tree;
Both speaking "empty."












Why does the rooster
Continue his joyful crow
On this warm Spring morn?












Everywhere new blooms;
Flowers of all colors pop--
Yellow, red and white.












Dark weed silhouette;
Sharp shadows on the tree trunk;
Whimsy of the sun.











Growing in the shade,
Light blue flowers sip the sun
In measured doses.








Closer to the sun
Pink blossoms bloom earlier,
Soaking in the rays.

Sun infuses leaves;
Turns them into small beacons
In the morning light.









Susan shears the goat
As it lies there peacefully;
Its own choiceless choice.