Halloween Poem --Pile de Volta

Our poems are wordstacks.
Each voltaic pile,
Once read, is replaced by
Something more --why?
What do we do this for?
One forces a charge
Up a column of copper
And disks of zinc.
One arranges in proper
Order all large and small
Ideas --one thinks
And puzzles then learns
To write all over again.
Each irreducible spark
Awaits its sudden arc
From foil layers in a 
Leyden Jar, what a poem is
And what we are --ideas. 

 

Holographic Equation

Why not extend
In all directions?
Leaves rattle in nut trees.
If a shadow winks
Once, one deduces
Autumn, and all things
Hide in yellow
Light where late
Summer slipped out
A weedy gate.
Fall heals something
No one knew was injured,
Something heat can't kill.
Dreams endure and will
Always slide like a
Ouija planchette across
Seasons, not led but
Followed by reason.

"There will be no 'Keep off the Grass' signs."

[Title quote, John McClaren (b.1846--), gardener in perpetuity, Golden Gate Park]
             *******************

I am by the sea
And behind me
Is another garden--
One of McClaren's
Windpumps serving
Australian rhododendron,
Cypress,  cedar from
Lebanon-- gnarled roots
Squeezing sand into soil
In this world away, another
Land, here, under
Alien weather, rooted,
Drew life and clutched
These dunes together.