Long Arboretum Poems
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Airy Wells and Emmett Street were working class kids,
Just shy of a high school diploma.
Airy’s mom had a habit of drinking too much.
Emmett’s father was fighting lymphoma.
Airy and Emmett had jobs after school,
And mostly just kept out of trouble.
While Airy stocked shelves at the dollar store,
Emmett worked with a pick and a shovel.
Airy and Emmett had always been friends.
And liked spending weekends together.
With summer vacation a few days away,
They were feeling as hot as the weather.
Airy and Emmett walked into the woods,
Not a pocket of breadcrumbs between them.
When Airy got pregnant and started to show,
They were lost in a vast arboretum.
Airy and Emmett were nervous and scared,
But promised to trust in each other.
They knew they were faced with the obvious choice,
Or with Airy becoming a mother.
Airy and Emmett were both underage,
And kept their decision discrete.
When Airy gave birth to identical twins,
Named them Amy and Emily Street.
Airy and Emmett were wedded that winter
By a shill with a cheap bag of tricks.
Their good fairy godmother granted their wish,
And they both got their overdose fix.
Airy and Emmett lost everything fast.
They lived and they died in the margins.
Now Amy and Emily struggle to be,
Like a couple of weeds in the garden.
We piled into the car
Caleb and Mom in front, me in the back
We weren't planning to go far
A nearby arboretum off the beaten track.
We went north, there were many cars each way
Saw a motorcycle downed, someone’s luck had failed
Amidst the empty southbound lane, there it lay
A journey interrupted, a life derailed
There was a police car, yellow tape and debris
Turned out the driver was badly hurt, but not dead
Still, I couldn't shake the vision when we walked among the trees
Of his narrowed future in a hospital bed
I read up on him later, a harried man in much debt
How it all happened, nobody quite knows
They've cleaned it all up, how soon we forget
How in an instant, so many doors can close
We walked the boardwalk through maples and pines
My family smiled; Mom was proud she could do it all
I couldn't shake the subtext between the lines.
So many differences before and after that fall.
Twenty walkers a day died last year; a fate not deserved
The drivers must feel guilt that can’t be shed
My brother’s friend tried a U-turn but another car swerved
His fiancé was hit, said “Goodbye “and was dead.
Too many have departed on the roads we travel through
Last year 6000 motorcyclists lives abruptly ended
42000 car drivers met their last rendezvous
And as we all know, death can’t be mended.
I visited the parents of a Christian friend
They impressed me as warm and kind
Then I heard that while driving they met their end
He was too old; he didn’t react in time.
I hope human innovation can solve the problems it creates
Perhaps the answer is the self-driving car
It's hard to give up control, but sudden danger waits
We don't need more reminders of how fragile we are.
When the last wild tree has fallen,
Concrete covered last bare earth,
When we've finally completed
Rape of the Mother Earth,
When the last bird has flown freely,
The last wild animal safely caged,
Will we be proud of the warfare
Against nature mankind has waged.
When the earth is one big city
With an outlook bare and bleak
Will we have finally achieved
The victory we seem to seek,
The natural world confined in
Glassed arboretum, in zoos
And nature is reduced to manicured
Manufactured sterile views,
When machines have pumped oxygen
Cleansing carbon oxides from the air,
Oceans been cleansed of the garbage
We had in the past thrown in there.
When global warming is controlled
And the climate has settled down
Wondering if life will be of value
If, when looking around
The only view is the buildings
Of the one big sprawling town.
No more swinging swaying
Freely whispering trees
To accompany the birdsong
Drifting on a spring breeze.
Or a poignant scene
So hard to forget,
A skein of wild geese flying
Against an autumn sunset
A New Sun
Shining through leaves...
a golden canopy of Light...
and the calling-after voice
of an insistent mother, rises, instructs,
and dies away
and all of it: the breeze, the whispers, the passing occasional car, the children's laughter
floods into a montage of sound
that fills... everything!
and I am one man, and everywhere
and I am made, healed, shown
how it was supposed to be...
and... are you here, my Love?
in the trees
(will I see you peeking out from behind one)
in the winds
(your voice as soft as the stars' voices)
in the leaves
(a thousand reflections of a thousand perfect fragments of your face)
I think you must be...
for I am at home among the colors,
and there are children here
I think they tease their hair
just to look a bit wilder
a little more… “coyote ugly”.
Perhaps a dash of “sports make-up”
under the eyes
to cut down the glare
of the headlights.
They roam the streets
hang out behind dumpsters
(probably smoking, telling coyote jokes”)
wondering why Mom and Dad
moved to the city.
Their den is in the Arboretum
overlooking the Boston skyline.
They go to Public School(s)
dumpster diving….
Covid box lunches.
Soon there will be more
a litter is due.
They may have to move
find a bigger place…
in the city….
good luck with that.
John G. Lawless
©11/20/2021
(“July 7 Hot and Blue”, 2024, original encaustic)
I like mowing the arboretum
Because it’s relaxing
And the reason for that
Is because it’s mindless.
There are other mindless activities
Such as walking on the beach,
Fishing under an open sky,
Or playing with pets and small children.
But mowing the arboretum for me
Is especially mind-less
Because it’s a randomly planted plot of land
Which means it can only be randomly mowed.
Only an acre, still it takes a couple of hours to mow,
And often I begin with dread, because
I have forgotten how good it feels
To let my mind wander into mindlessness.
In our hearts we know mindlessness is good for us,
And that’s because being obsessively mindful
Is the same as being a prisoner, or better yet a slave,
Within and to our own mind.
Mindfulness is well and good for a variety of tasks,
I certainly want my surgeon being mindful,
But it’s simply a means to an end, and that end,
The ultimate space of a free mind, is mind less.
(4/17/26)
Thomas Higgins was busy doctor
And spent his evenings with the rector
Who managed a nearby seminary;
He was a man loveably down-to-earth and ordinary.
He spent the hours between four and six
In the nearby arboretum studying twings
And the little monkeys that graced the trees,
He had a bottle with stuff that looked like juice
From which he drank from time to time,
And I fancied some day I would write him some rhyme.
He did hasty press-ups and liked to jog
And beside him sat Casey his faithful dog;
He followed his master wherever he went
And wagged his tail whenever his master bent.
Thomas and Higgins were such faithful friends
And such were their daily trends;
Whenever they walked back home
Casey would lead the way as was his accustomed norm.
Memorial service ~10:00 A.M. October 21st, 2020...
at Cherry Hill, New Jersey Unitarian Fellowship
Boyce Brandon Harris cremains
(approximately one fourth entire contents)
offered, interred, and eulogized
within ‘Tristan’s Pollinator Garden,'
which constitutes minute arboretum
bore witness to immediate family of said deceased
yours truly plus eldest and youngest sister
each of us communicated solemn words
to recall admirable, inimitable,
and unfathomable father,
whose passing (evident previous six months,
whereby his declining physical health)
unfettered, presaged, and indicated imminent death
now his invisible spirit
dwells amidst the spiritual abodes
encompassing three offspring,
he and the late Harriet Harris begat,
whose lives analogous
to quasi orphaned grown children
all adults with independent lives of their own.
We (progeny of our father and mother,
the latter deceased
approximately fifteen and a half years)
convened at above mentioned site
see fourth line of poem
to consecrate, designate, and generate
extemporaneous heartfelt sentiments
honoring his wishes,
mixing joys and sorrows,
regaling poignant occasions
before shoveling soil
punctuated silent benediction
courtesy Reverend Margret A. O'Neall,
Developmental Minister eloquently enunciated
reassuring, healing, and comforting words
to small congregating crowd
comprising half dozen plus people.
Come spring two thousand twenty one
a hearty shrub or tree,
(yet to be decided upon)
will be planted within sanctioned
space, whereby Mother Earth
will allow, enable, and provide
nondescript ashes to mingle
subterranean flora and fauna,
whence roots of former will help filtrate
cremated body once housing
Boyce Brandon Harris.
He who helped bring us
(meaning Amélie, Matthew and Shari)
into existence forever spirited into the future
linkedin by actions
genetically, indirectly and knowingly
hashtagged, kickstarted and tweeted
said son and daughters
who possess his corporeal heritage.
Three women friends, riding in a golf cart, an arboretum journey.
The sky was overcast, the mood jubilant, we were ready for fun.
A reverence and sacred silence met us as we entered the park.
There were ten different gardens, named, with plaques.
Daises and bleeding heart, stood proudly and primly.
This was a well-planned excursion to a magical place.
It did not disappoint – massive sculptures were plaqued and signed.
I took photos from my seat in the back, facing where we had gone,
Not where we were going. I had volunteered for this rumble seat.
One raindrop felt charming to me. I announced it.
We laughed about it, at the same time, on watch.
Lightning meant we would have to take the golf cart back.
One drop turned a rapid, unexpected rain storm.
There was no way to stay dry back here or up front.
The canopy designed for sun was no challenge for the water that pounded us.
Tell me if you are getting too wet, the driver said.
We laughed, announcing how wet we already were, not wanting to turn back,
Wanting to see everything.
We were getting soaked but it was worth it.
Within a lush verdant meadow, meanders a lazy river
Where wildflowers bloom beneath the warm breath of the sun
They sway upon a gypsy wind on this early morning in June
Stems of purple heather rise above the carpeted earth,
Emerald green as any Irish hillside or garden near the shore
Their saccharine scented plumes attract the pollen seekers
Bursts of color can be seen in shades of scarlet and white
For growing on the river's bank is a plethora of anemone
Not the variety that resides in the depths of a sea
Yellow iris mingle with daisies in this alfresco arboretum
Untouched by the hand of man, it's an immaculate bouquet
Resplendent in perfumed glory and pristine perfection
There's the mellifluous sound of a cascading waterfall
singing a soft melody as it spills from crevices of granite rock
Nourishing the serpentine river flowing through the glade
This haven appears as an Elysian Field, as Eden must have been
A sanctuary to remain inviolate and reverenced by the gods
Perceived to be hallowed ground, too sublime for mortal man
September 29, 2021
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