Gentle Conquerors

Jungle of flowers

Taking over my front lawn;

Gentle conquerors.

Dark hole in the leaves;

Luminous surrounding

Emphasize darkness.

In late Spring fullness

Trees burst forth in their greenness

Filling up the sky.

With their backs towards me

Good company of two birds;

(No reference to me.)

Respite from the heat

Can happen in the shadows

This last day of June.

Man with small dog

Melting into the shadows.

(Have I melted too?)

As the sun moves up

And the heat starts to increase,

I dodge for shadows.

Absence is Presence

Wild free for all:

Blue, white and purple flowers

Spray on my front lawn. 

Rustle in the bush--

Beyond, a car rushes past.

Quiet late Spring morn.

The faceless black sign

Conceals all of its meaning

In complete silence.

Swing, ladder and chairs

Speak more loudly than if full:

Absence is presence.

Shadows in shadow:

Street sign becomes hieroglyph

From an unknown land.

Shadows touch the woods,

And play upon the roadside--

The world is dappled.

Dead Ferns and Daisies

Light without sunlight;

Flowers moving silently;

A fly buzzes past.

Greens merge with green;

All wave in the late Spring breeze;

A bird seems to fall.

My small pot flowers;

Daisies, clover on my lawn;

All without my help.

Small bird on a wire;

Single note in the gray sky,

Without any sound.

Yellow gathering

Shoots light into the gray day

As if by design.

A single daisy

Peeks from under the green leaves

To stake its own claim.

Dead ferns and daisies

Share a common patch of land.

(No philosophy).

No Boundaries Here

Ant dashes across

Disturbing my mind and thoughts--

So small to do that!

Lines of light outside

Move across my front railing;

Beyond, a sun burst.

Timothy grass grows,

Ready to tickle the nose

Of those who sniff it.

Still, the pine cone rests

Where it's fallen by the road;

Thoughts of winter gone.

Merging with shadows,

And silent as a shadow,

Walker approaches.

Woodpecker on left,

Mourning dove calls on the right;

(I'm in the middle.)

With its hands outstretched,

Trumpet vine calls for the sun;

And the sun responds.

Yellow flowers flow

On the hard gray asphalt--

No boundaries here.

Each One A Beacon

The kids are coming;

The first time I won't be there

In thirty-three years. 

Sky is blue gray today;

Rhododendron's disappeared;

New small blossoms grow.

One buttercup grows

Up through the lying ladder;

Finding its own way.

A lone clover grows

At the edge of the roadside,

Casting its violet.

Spray of yellow blooms

Light up the dim, dark forest,

Each one a beacon.

Drooping to yellow

Trumpet Vine enters last phase--

Bid farewell to white.

Broadcasting Orange

Warm but not too hot

Very first day of summer;

Still, the cars swish by. 

Warm inside, warm out;

Summer pleasure in the air--

A restful waiting.

Tiger lilies grow

Wild at the side of my stream,

Dropped from the fire sky.

A jumble of kids

In the dark of the mid day,

Quiet as shadows.

Two black eyed Susans

Grow together in the field

Broadcasting orange.

Forest of dead trees

Spring up along the roadside

Pretending to live