Random Act of Love

 

At this creeping hour,
(It's well on to eleven)
Clouds threaten to burst.

 

There is no sunshine,
Only the gray heavy light,
Before the rains fall.

 

Hens persistent clucks
Fill the soft, gray, silent air;
Then, mourning dove coos.

 

 Where are the children?
Murmured voices from the house;
Ball lies abandoned.

The mirroring stream
Reflects the clouds and the leaves;
(A pebble bursts it.)

A friend stops to chat,
Leaving a warmth in my heart.
Friendship is magic.

He left it for me:
My favorite movie of all.
Random act of love.

Flashing gently down,
Moth pretends it's a dead leaf.
(Is it watching me?)

(Do Cows Meditate?)

Where is the sunshine?
Is there a grain of sadness?
Why does my heart leap?

 

 

 How thick the lilacs,
Deafening in their sweetness--
Smothering perfume.

 

Olivia sits
Chewing slowly and calmly.
(Do cows meditate?)

 

 They don't disappear
These shadows when the clouds come.
They wait to spring back.

 

Lavender and white
Share a palette on bushes
Mingling their smells.

 

 With warmth comes insects
That buzz in my eyes and ears.
Bitter with better.

 

 Hanging in mid air
Against law of gravity:
Wriggling inch worm.

Softer in the Shade

 

 

Mid May afternoon,
The lilacs are responding:
Purple explosion.

All light falls lightly
Lighting in the patched front lawn,
Which needs no repair.

 

I didn't ask them
To occupy my front stoop,
These steepled blue blooms.

 The last blooming tree
Gives up skeletal fingers
For magic of green ones.

 Dandelions past
And dandelions present,
Standing side by side.

 

Dead stump giving birth
To a pantheon of leaves,
Continues to rot.

 

 The old lady's dead
But the colors she nurtured
Paint bushes and trees.

  

Sunlight through the leaves
Frames the trilling of the frogs
And humming of bees.

 

  

 

On the edge of the road:
A fluttering butterfly
Enjoying the shade.

 Singing of the woods,
Low pitched and high frequency,
Softer in the shade.

It's a Laughing Day

It's a laughing day--
Sun chuckles through the bright leaves;
Pine trees billow green.

 

 Buddha and shovel
Sitting through all the seasons
In shadows and sun.

Green, yellow and brown--
Three steps of forsythia
From birth into death.

Alfred mounts his mom;
He's just not well equipped.
(No moral issue).

Purple, green and brown--
Three soft colors of the shade
That blend with the heart.

St. Francis is gone;
So is the old lady--
The flowers remain.

Ravaged by seasons--
Craggy, textured and shadowed:
Stump has dignity.

Whose woods these are (not):
Trees, animals and people--
"PRIVATE PROPERTY!"

Did it ever snow?
Was the sky ever leaden?
Imagination!