Best Landscaped Poems
Dad had threatened for some time, to reclaim the land behind the shed,
where rubbish over many years, had stockpiled but now instead
of being easy to be shifted, blackberries, docks and thistles grow,
entwining history of ours… and you know we didn’t know.
Mum cracked the whip one Sunday, handing out the different tools
for us to shovel, fork, pick and slash; of course she made the rules.
We weren’t to stop until the rubbish, had been cleared and left to show
a barren space to be landscaped… and you know we didn’t know.
Johnny parked the truck close to where we’d easily load the tray.
First we had to slash blackberries, to open up a pathway.
Old fencing wire and bent droppers, we pulled and tugged. The work was slow.
Plus bits of motors, old oil filters… and still we didn’t know.
The ‘Old Man’ knocked a stump out I can’t remember being a tree,
it disintegrated into pieces; white ant workings I could see.
Plastic pots and old fuel drums, onto the tray we heave and throw.
Just on half the plots been cleaned up now… and still we didn’t know.
A concrete trough and a mattress spring, mesh from an old birdcage.
A kitchen sink broken in two and a pushbike at some stage.
Sardine tins, a barrow bowl, and a seized up mower that won’t mow,
now there’s just one corner left to clean… and still we didn’t know.
A stack of roofing iron near the fence; the last that had to go.
One by one we dragged the rusting sheets… and still we didn’t know.
Dad picked up the final sheet, and then he quickly threw it down again.
His face was white and ‘cripes’ he shook… we ‘bloody-well’ knew then.
I believe that long ago, the universe’s most artistic landscaper
mixed woodlands with tropics, rock formations with mountains,
volcanic craters with lush valleys, and cascading waterfalls with
pristine still waters before blending all with an ocean and
topping it off with sunshine. Man named this place, Hawaii.
The absolute awe that defines Hawaii, is bound to awaken
any slumbering faith and rejuvenate any emotion grown numb
to the brilliance of life. While visiting the Islands of Hawaii, I
absorbed a joy and wonder from the plants that delightfully
startled my own routine senses. I have been blessed in my life
to personally view beautiful and eye-catching plant life in many
regions of the world. In Hawaii, the plants adorning and tending
the islands are the most dramatic, glorious and enchanting that
my vision has ever drunk. There is an otherness to Hawaiian flora
that suggests plants are empowered with the ability to uplift,
stimulate and captivate even the most withdrawn human vision.
entrancing colors
paint a wonderland terrain ~
landscaped free of charge
bodacious flora
thrives in hawaii's landscape ~
no mute legs walk there
The sage green wall had worn a blank look
until, slightly askew, with a tilt to the left
dangling helplessly, without a complaint
is the pride of an artist, who lacked all constraints.
He dipped into his paints with no sense of restriction
hung it in place without hesitation
giving the viewer a crick of the neck.
It hangs precariously, for an eager assessment
without circumspection, neither yes's or no's...
No hemming or hawing just helter and skelter
Instead, a take me or leave me,... is the quick estimation
Conforming was no issue, just pure bold assumption
Excitement exploded from two eager hands
that thrust it in place, with assured restless haste,
hammered a nail with pride and conviction
and planted it there, with pure ardent fervor
Sharing a warmth of a seasonal decade....
this amateurish, yet delightful landscaped intrusion
sings in the sunshine, and smelling of springtime
shouting with color, and sprinkled with lavender
flavored with turpentine, and oil-painted rainbows
In the lower left corner, is an array of dahlias,
bursting with crimson, never changing or fading
never thirsty for water,
barren of a single, silent, dried up weed
and free of decay, dismay or mold
The amber was gold, the umber was bold,
rust to rust, dust to dust......ash to ash
With him he took all the pride that he found
...still holding the brush stroke of a satisfied smile
___________________________________
For Anthony's Contest: Favorite Artist
Dedicated to someone special in my life R.I.P.
4/16/14 Revised for Anthony's Contest
Grant me pancakes trolleys
Rocket-fueled swingsets
Marmalade mountains
with high-crusting cream.
Seattle strings its polite passers
Among misting choirs of clouds,
So begging I go for dixie cups of chili
Steaming block by block, as a harsh July
Has every fourth day blue.
I wish for weather with wiggling hues
of pinks, rouge, and mauve,
Landscaped with blazeberries, lazer lemons, and fudge.
Fudge, fudge, for all with small children,
Young puppies, and dwarfed camels,
So we can ride slow, strong, and merry
in bliss-hoofed patterns.
My final wish of this corrugated ten,
Is to speak of such long tales, once rested and spent
Along the shores of our Lord, at the edge of these dreams.
GOODBYE SECRET GARDEN
Once upon a time, my father planted a Christmas tree,
It stood tall and proud, a landmark for all to see,
But lightning struck this magnificent sight,
Which every Christmas shone with lights so bright,
It had to be cut down, despite my desperate plea!
We cut two thirds down, felt sure it was safe and sound,
The last third, I landscaped a secret garden around,
I didn’t want my dad sad whenever he looked down,
Or to be unhappy and maybe develop a frown,
Each flower was planted with bliss into the ground.
But now we are about to sell our home, I’m sad,
For memories were made here, most of them glad,
Will in time fade away I fear to say,
And don’t look forward to the day we move away,
But our new home that we built is awesomely rad!
Of the terrible and the wonderful, the lull then roaring sound,
The footprints of the heathen Gods stamped upon the ground,
The breath of Satan’s lungs and how the landscaped churned,
How this desolation bade the world both deluged and burned.
With the bodies and the buildings strewn around, around, around,
Such as grist beneath the elements that bluster, rage and pound,
Leaving in their wake of anarchy destruction far and wide,
A war declared by twists of fate, climactic genocide.
Of the horrible and the marvellous, somewhere amidst the hell,
Human hearts and souls rose up and stood against the swell,
Survivors yet against all odds, against such deficit,
Survived in spite of aid they got and not because of it.
Now this Third World in America should never ever be,
In this land of wealth and power, freedom’s flame, democracy,
There are men and women, children: broken, beaten, ravaged, shaken,
In the name of all that’s holy, do not add they be forsaken.
"AID IS NEEDED NOW!
TOMORROW, FOR SOME, WILL BE TOO LATE!"
On the way to the nursing home, we pass many beautiful sights. So many homes with pleasant yards, lawns, and flowers that delight. After so many days of rain then a little break, green everywhere abounds.
kudzu wraps up trees
grows rapidly reaches road....
goats needed to dine
Several homeplaces have clear-cut trees so that the area looks completely different. Then the area where the tornado came through and demolished so many acres of trees, damaged homes, and other buildings. It will take years for it to grow back or will it ever?
birds can't find a tree
nesting impossible there....
landscaped homes needed
The anxiety grows as we get nearer to the nursing home. Will the visit be much the same? He no longer has his hearing aids so that adds to his confusion. He mostly can't hear nor understand so the conversation bypasses him totally. She isn't up to date with the times either because she is isolated or she can't remember. The short-term memory is gone. It went the way of yesterday and can't return. They are not allowed to share a room nor are they in the same section of the home.
nurse brings her out first
he comes out, sits next to her....
they kiss, worth while trip
Our snowmen, they're not made of white.
They're tumbleweeds, rolled up tight.
No top hat upon his head,
a cowboy hat sits there instead.
His face and buttons, tree ornaments,
boots and lariat, his accoutrements.
Saguaro cacti with lights wrapped 'round,
illuminate the landscaped grounds.
Old horse drawn wagons get a festive touch,
with lighted garland, packages and such.
Porch rails glow with colored lights,
Christmas trees in windows, warm the nights.
Our little town gets all decked out,
then we gather along the parade route.
Folks on horseback with ribbons and bells,
the horses know that old route well.
Marching school band play Christmas songs,
trucks and tractors carry carolers along.
Floats abound from businesses and groups,
braving the cold, the Christmas cowboys troop.
We all stand up to clap and cheer,
as Santa, as usual, brings up the rear.
Waving his red cowboy hat, in a horse drawn sleigh,
Welcoming Christmas, The Wickenburg way.
MLK's Positive Beloved Community Psychology:
The study
and mindbody experience
of positively regenerative life
as appositionally dipolar,
double-negative correlational,
Mind consciousness
and body conscience
co-arising empathy
back into endosymbiotic dissonance,
physical-ego decay
And metaphysical-ec(o)-soul irrationality
of unbalanced temporal-neural dysfunction,
growing autistic depressive-repressive anger and fear,
chronically disintegrative,
increasingly climatic degeneration,
dis-ease racing toward even further Yangry Fear
monocultural trending self/other
shame/blame,
socio-eco-political
ungrateful
unforgiving pathology
For missing out
on humanely divine
polycultural
dialectical
nondualistic mind/body
crown/root bilaterally intelligent opportunities
To choose full-health wealth investment i
n polyempathic passion/pleasures
of Beloved Woke Community
Interior within Exterior Landscaped
revolutionary content thought
contentment felt
Through Positive BiCameral EcoPsychological Conscious
body gratitude
mind positive attitude
spreading our trauma-in/ex-formative
co-passioned networking virus
ReStoring BodyEmpowering Justice
and Civil MindEnlightening Peace,
PositiveMind BodyPleasureTherapy
CoOperating beloved back
to YangFather
SunCrown enlightening
YintegralMother
EarthRooted empowerment.
The community cemetery adjoined
the rear fence-line of his property.
Broad, rolling green acres landscaped
with varieties of shrubbery and trees.
Monuments in lines, rows, and diagonal patterns.
Most of them simple, monolithic.
Carvings, etchings, and brief epitaphs
carved in granite or marble
The stones, like spring's green leafed
trees and fresh-cut grass, know the seasons.
They awake to the sun each dawn; grow
shadowed, docile, meditative at twilight.
Nature recycles around them by annum.
Precious stele' standing their post eternal,
while the invisible substance of air smoothes
each carving and etching ever so covertly.
Mornings he would sit, steaming coffee mug in hand,
reflecting on the tranquility of the sentinel stones.
He envisioned the markers being books
to be leafed through, revealing life
from the mundane to the ecstatic.
A few concave or convex letters and numbers
carved in stone could never convey a person's
full saga in time. The humanity of a life.
Those things their blood had seen, felt, or known.
The ranks of headstones still stand guard.
He sips hot black coffee and imagines reading
the story inside each book of stone;
opening each, as one gently peruses
the pages and content of a rare, precious book.
Books Etched in Stone
5-28-15
Free Verse
The small of a womans back
Sacred ground, desire
It beckons, quietly inviting
Waiting to be caressed
Waiting to be touched
Waiting to be claimed
Unmistakably feminine
Uniquely landscaped
Female curves, danger
Feel the touch of my hands
Strong, firm, suggestive
Soft, tender, comforting
The small of a womans back
Waiting to be caressed
By the hands of her lover
~Rick Berry
The time had come, we were agreed
To discontinue paying rents.
We'd make our plans and then proceed
To buy or build a residence.
i said an older house I'd choose.
A little house and lot would do.
The first of many fights I'd lose,
My wife and daughters wanted new.
Because of our financial state,
A giant mortgage would be tough.
I said we can't be profligate.
Two bedrooms and a bath's enough.
That sound opinion was not shared.
'Twould be the last they'd listen to.
And I was badly unprepared
To face the hell they put me through.
Each girl demanded her own room,
And two for guests my wife required.
(Her parents, harbingers of gloom,
And shiftless brother, who'd been fired.)
A living room with stone fireplace,
A finished den with vast TV,
Cathedral ceilings, (Wasted space!)
And just in case, a nursery.
The house entirely made of brick,
At least three baths and custom doors,
With granite counters, (Now I'm sick!)
A laundry room, and hardwood floors.
Its tubs so large we could bathe whales,
The hugest closets ever made,
New furniture from Bloomingdale's,
And landscaped trees providing shade.
A massive lawn (More I must mow!)
For future pool put underground,
A grill and screened-in patio,
And fence so pets can run around.
* * * * *
We've since moved in and now know how
A home affects a family.
The years have passed. I'm happy now.
We've added daughter number three.
To save on gas, I walk to work.
I carry lunch and no new cars.
My second job is hardware clerk.
I've sold my clubs and quit cigars.
Instead of crabs, we buy sardines.
No more expensive suits or gowns.
In place of steaks, it's franks and beans,
And younger girls wear hand-me-downs.
A lower temp to save on heat,
From pure-bred pets to shelter strays,
No gyms to jog, we have our street,
And no more concerts, trips, or plays.
More years ahead of steady debts,
But we're content to pay the price.
The five of us have no regrets.
We've learned to live with sacrifice.
A dream house we now occupy.
I'm feeling masculine inside.
I'm filled with pride when home I spy.
My family is satisfied.
Known for one, behind which are many more,
a Land well carved into
geographic abundance and anthropologic history.
A land of majestic fjords and of the midnight sun.
A land possessed by the people of colourful clothings
and known for rearing reindeers.
A land of the troll
both that of the scandanavian folklore
and the largest object ever moved by man.
A land of the “tran” against rickets
and one also full of romance to the brown cheese.
A land greeted with a great history of raiders
but having a landscaped virtually void of castles.
Now a modern terrain
and an advanced pasture of the Scandinavia,
glorified by its topmost position
in the eventful tussles of the winter.
June fever rises, rolls on the tide of Spring
Kaleidoscopic landscape overtaken flows
Sunlight reveals colors tranquil undergrowth
Imagination grows, open to interpretation
Streaming quietly downstream in morning meandering
Fills up with joy, calendars engagements, holidays at play
Flowers along the hillside bloom
Lift skyward soon on carpeted green grasses
Landscaped with you in mind
Narrow portals, corridors of time include intrusions
Beauty rises in that sacred slower moment
In no hurry, no place to go
The sun comes up, erases every memory of Winter
Eye sensations coronations pretty
Shows off the lovely skin of pink
Dresses of pale petals thin begin
Worn fashionably only in this season
Bursting with enthusiasm on grasses green
That which light penetrates so gladly
The dark stem, like life, is what you make of it in May
June is yellow, happy, golden fringes sing
Radiate with light as birds take flight
This is the time to drink in rain droplets from the leaf
Speak to your flowers gently
They are only here for a while
In Spring, bring plenty of blankets for a picnic
Warmth is precious
Don't step on flowers
Sip wine instead
Eat sliced French bread with jam
Enjoy the wonders carpeted on the grass
An open umbrella would be nice
To shade the sun
To sit and watch the show begin
Soft rain comes clinging on the leaf
A refreshing mist rolls in
No need for speaking
June flowers say everything
Reality kissed in secret on a whisper
You bought the ticket, so let's take a ride
I promise not to leave you unsatisfied
You may want a life vest and/or bear spray
And abandon all hope as you enter the doorway...
There's the part of me that runs amok while I sleep
The eccentric puppeteer with a flock of black sheep
Mysteriously promoting subconscious motivations
And slipping in mischievously to my daily communication
There's the part of me that sullenly sulks and mopes
Impossible to please and the dasher of all my hopes
Nothing is ever good enough 'cause it's all so bad
If I ever go to a rubber room, it's 'cause he drove me mad
There's the part of me that endlessly fantasizes
Always conjuring grandiose and complicated enterprises
Content to ruminate and pontificate, but never actually "do"
He's the one who looks fine, as long as you look askew
There's the part of me that works hard and stays quiet
Generally, he's the one I allow to be the pilot
Busy keeping this mind field intact and nicely landscaped
He's the one I always wish got a chance to have escaped
There's many other parts of me vying for their turn at the helm
But, for the most part, I never let them overwhelm
It's as easy as herding cats or nailing jello to the wall
But I must have a self-governing principle, a guiding protocol
I never let any part of myself run the show always
Some I can only let out on vacations and holidays
And I never keep any part of myself shut out completely
I just let it out ever so discreetly