Stubbs Park is decorously rampant,
its paths scamper here and there
like unruly children.
The original landscapers ran riot,
for they planted arching spans
between and over
many of its grassy hillocks,
its trickling brooks.
If you are in meditative mood,
these diminutive bridges
can lead you away and home again
in the compact unwinding
of a few gardened acres.
Catwalks may connect you
to gaps in your life
ones yet uncrossed for want of a bridge’
They can lead you astray also
until you figure out the right questions
to ask of yourself.
Perhaps more to the point
folks can leisurely pass over
some idle hours
between breakfast and lunch.
On a summer evening
your long shadow
can walk over the park
in a few strides.
You may recall then that all your steps
have been
bridges over time,
a landscaping of a life -
and just a walk in the park.
Categories:
landscapers, poetry,
Form: Free verse
I try to be humble
when it comes to evaluating poetry,
reminding myself, that my penned gems
may seem paste to others – addicted
to cuneiform glitter, my mining deeply within
our shared reality tunnels sometimes left mere holes
for better landscapers forced to fill in – the dirt
I scatter to the surface,
the rocks, thousands of years' old boulders
pulverized for dear expediency, justifying actions by
use of strong verbs and a lot of campie adjectives –
the new normal, I am told, nouns are fluid...
I guess, the rain piss, and the sun an insidious thirst
for those shunning government sanctioned kool-aid
to drink, like myself, finding shelter in the holes we
have dug for self and others, calling them natural
abodes, or bypass for an earth
desperately in need of new moral
arteries – Well...having belittled who
I am and what I do, for me, my pen yet lingers
a rod and staff of sorts, a pacifier habitually in search
of divine nipples....
Categories:
landscapers, addiction, creation, culture, poetry,
Form: Free verse
Dandelion puff clouds
tickle the air with their flossy flights.
Other weeds cannot fly
they are deeply rooted, their seeds
flop low.
Landscapers grind the ground grimly,
mowers grapple and growl
but the low gravity and the fluffy,
the wind-walking dandelions
sneeze up their fuzziness
and care not
as they ride the sky, their
high-flown wispy pedigrees
waving goodbye.
Categories:
landscapers, poetry,
Form: Free verse
Dandelions are Mother Nature’s gold medallions,
Hated by master landscapers as obnoxious weeds
Marching across manicured lawns like battalions,
A whiff of wind releases thousands of their seeds.
written January 27, 2022
Categories:
landscapers, flower,
Form: Quatrain
Stubbs Park is decorously rampant,
its paths scamper here and there
like unruly children.
Perhaps its topographical language
once spoke of bridges
for the landscapers have run riot
planting arching spans
between and over
many of its hillocks and humps.
If you are in meditative mood,
these diminutive bridges
can lead you away and home again
in the compact unwinding
of a few gardened acres.
The catwalks of Stubbs park
can connect you to gaps in your life
as yet uncrossed for want of a bridge,
they can lead you astray also
until you figure out the right questions
to ask of yourself,
or perhaps more to the point
they can leisurely pass over
some idle hours
between breakfast and lunch.
Categories:
landscapers, poetry,
Form: Free verse
High Heels like skyscrapers,
Bruised knees like landscapers,
That **** is for the birds
AND THE BIRDS FLY SOUTH.
Curling lips, twitching hips,
Skin tight shorts full of rips,
That **** is for the birds
AND THE BIRDS FLY SOUTH.
Finger pointing, Truth avoiding
Quiet Heart, Loud Mouth
That **** is for the birds,
AND THE BIRDS FLY SOUTH.
Categories:
landscapers, age, bird, character, confusion,
Form: Lyric