Friday, December 2, 2016

(1915-2001)

                                                                   With love and admiration to all mothers

When her hearing went
She often said,"I can hear you
But I can't tell what you're saying."
At her kitchen table
We watched a storm pound
The olive orchard--
Sunlight fled the field
Crossed the creek and
Dark filled the window,
Then lit blinding blue
Over thunder to the bone.
When the room unrattled
She laughed, "I heard that.
I just couldn't tell what it said."
I wish again that her hearing
had been better because
I'd love to know.

Monday, November 21, 2016

Drought


Drought, it hides 
Out underfoot
In tortured roots,
Science, in art,
And doubt, faith
And overhead in
Dry trees where 
We seek the living
Sky from our knees.

Sunday, November 6, 2016

Time Wave













Here, rain falls
Where form fills a
Pull of potential.
Rain falls on what
Will be because
Rain fell.
Life, shrunken nearly
To nothing, soaks, sprouts,
Stretches, ages.

Old bark ridges,
Cuts of other seasons--
Things in soil and reason
Endure between bricks,
Logs --snails, worms, sowbugs.
Treefrogs clutched
In a broken cup

Don't care what time
It is here and,
To a gardener, being
A year --or a million--
Arrears is about
Like caught up.

Tuesday, October 18, 2016

From An Even More Apocryphal Apocrypha



The great spirit of
Humankind descended
Upon the world and cried out,
"What the heck am
I doing in all these bodies
And why are they so
Excited about each other?"
All the stars swept
Down to shed light on
The question and
Got snagged in a
Potted olive tree.
"Beats us!" they chorused.
So it's up to you and me, I guess.

Wednesday, October 5, 2016

Della's Pump Again

It's been 3 years since I posted this poem on"Invalid's Workshop" and now it's 11 p.m. and I've just come back from working on Della's pump again. This time, I had to run a hose across the field from my well to her plumbing so she could shower and flush etc. --fell down climbing over a wire fence and hurt myself! I then gave her phone numbers to call in the morning. I no longer solve submersible pump problems in the dark. That was a recreation for a younger version of me. But I was reminded of what it means to be a rural neighbor in this world and decided to repost the poem before the country is entirely paved and ruled by Home Owners' Associations.

His old mother's well quit
Quite in the dark.
Condenser, relay,
Romex rusted under weeds.
Here we chose our places
And our deeds--
Useful under stars, black trees,
Probing earth for logic
On our knees.

Wednesday, September 21, 2016

Ourania And Graphic Arts


Ourania worked
Annular rings
From her lyre.
Sometimes she
Sings and can
Be heard in
Heartwood here.
She painted
Peace above
A battlefield.
Detail revealed it
Split stone and
Took away walls.
Nothing left
Except a telephone.
No one calls.

Saturday, September 10, 2016

Coreopsideae, Cosmos



Cosmos is what
We understand
Of our universe and
--compose nomenclature
To converse in
Its language of 
Nature-- what we live
And do. "Give,
Give," it says.
"For that is all
There is of you."