Years of collecting
Array of variety
Ready to clean house
Dust covered items
Sit in boxes
Awaiting new homes
Let the people dive in
Everything must go!
rust climbs silent spine of forgotten rails
the yard waits for a whistle
that will never be heard.
In my yard stands a tree
tall and sturdy
silent like a hermit,
regal like an empress
her roots dug deep
her branches touching the heavens
peeking behind the skies veil
She has a coy dalliance with the Wind.
Sometimes he comes tickling
her tender parts, whispering
sweet nothings in her ear.
Overall, she is still,
still.....like waters without ripples.
She stands upright
brooding over the saga of struggle
from a sapling to a towering giant
Indeed, a tryst with destiny!
Under the summer sky
braving the smarting beams
she remained uncomplaining.
Below the thundering clouds,
bearing a thousand needle pricks
she stayed nonchalant.
When the wind swept across,
bending her branches in all directions,
she stood on firm feet unwavering.
She tells a tale of struggle and survival.
She had stood there before I was born.
Now she displays every scar and every stripe
on her knotted bark as a proud trophy.
Sometimes I feel her pain
when wet and dripping in pouring rain
or scorched in the sun’s fiery rage.
Yet, she holds an umbrella over all
who come to her in sun and rain
and blesses creatures like squirrels and birds.
Sitting on a porch between two flags
I watch a man ride by on a bike,
a box of magic tied to his back.
Should I stop and ask him about it, Dad?
Should I ask God how you are getting along
in heaven without a bicycle? Without me?
Last night I forgot how it was --
the shape of your face, the slant of your nose,
the way you would laugh in the back
of your throat. You had laughed as you agreed
that my observation of rug makers, or scrub jays,
or magic trick artists was from a different
perspective that yours, one you had not
thought of before.
But now, I cannot recall what your perspective
was, as I balance grief and sanity in my old age.
I've forgotten so much since your absence,
so much of what we shared our many years.
But one thing I do recall, as I was only eight.
You said that you believed in a parallel
universe and asked if I could believe it, too.
The sun was warm on my shoulders
as we stood in our small dirt yard.
They look right past the trailer door,
And talk as if I’m never there.
"She doesn't fish," I hear him say,
A heavy truth hangs in the air.
But no one casts a line my way,
Or ask if I would like to ride.
They only ask me to babysit,
And leave my own desires inside.
They feel as if I were a hermit,
I am never asked to see a movie or share a meal.
But I’m just waiting in the shade,
Inside this quiet box of steel.
Tucked tight into the yard’s far edge trying not to fade,
A quiet life behind the screen.
The anchor, holding down the fort,
The forgotten one, who stays unseen,
Always a good sport.
My yard stands quietly in the sun,
Morning bones of adobe bright,
Measured shadows lean like questions,
Muted fences breathe warm dust,
Mesa winds hum through still air,
Memory settles in soft light,
Motionless heart of the desert.
with every step I gingerly take
I have ankle-breaking potential
thanks to my dog’s obsession with digging
If I do fall into one of his holes, I will be buried alive
clods of dirt flying into my face from his back paws
right now I am sitting at my outside table
which used to be safe
not anymore
it now has six giant holes surrounding the perimeter
My left foot just got whipped into the air by his massive neck
because he is digging a hole under my right foot
I seen a spiritual grave yard one day,
demons were hanging on to people, they couldn’t get away.
The fear, the torment, the anguish that was on each face,
I could see, that they had fell, from grace.
Their screams, the cries, they were yelling out in pain,
begging, pleading, it would drive a man insane.
Then years later, guess where I would wake up to be,
in a spiritual grave yard, demon’s had a hold on me.
And now I know what it is all about,
for I have been there, with out a doubt.
When your chained and you can’t get free,
your blinded, and you just can’t see.
This place I speak of, it is very much true,
when you’ve done lost, touch with you.
Some say it’s backsliding, others, straddling the fence you be,
it really doesn’t matter, when you’re in that grave yard, you see.
Nothing makes since, a cloud in the air,
a feeling coming on, making you not care.
We begin to give God, the old cold shoulder you see,
headed for that grave yard, we be.
The screams, the anguish, torment, and pain,
it’s all there, under the darkness’s reign.
I thank God, He set me free, from this place,
where I landed, when I fell from His Grace.
red is my color
I am a fun winter bird~
call me cardinal
Cats and dogs
Croaking bull frogs
Peas and beans
Dandelion greens
Oaks and pine
Maple trees fine
Lilac and rose
Azalea’s grow
Birds and bees
Two apple trees
Pond and lawn
A spotted fawn
Fence and stonewall
Framing it all
our yard is creeping with dandelions
clover and wild thistle growing too
soon it will be camouflage for full grown lions
black pumas, spotted leopards and king of the lions too
every blade of grass has a memory
each yellow dandelion has her own song to sing
I marvel at the miracle of the red clover with her circular leaves
purposeful ant marches past my musings, giving me a withering look
Gate of GODFORSAKEN GRAVE yard made sound.
A girl with GRIEF -STRICKEN face to enter.
Her long dress of GOSSAMER touched the ground.
She walked and reached almost at centre.
It was Moonlit night : Her tears to glisten.
She put flowers on the grave of her Mom.
Her silent GROANING, only to listen
by gate : Myriad of pain to fathom !
GHOSTLY silhouette is displayed on sky
The girl looked up above : Moon tends to hide !
Gate of grave yard made sound again, but why ?
The pet cat followed her and sat beside.
Gate of the graveyard witnessed the event.
The girl got her companion to lament.
Back Yard
Just sitting on my back porch.
In my back-yard.
Looking into the sky.
No worries.
Keep things simple.
Take it easy today and tomorrow.
Live alone.
That’s the way it goes.
See birds fly.
Skim through the air, by and by.
Just wondering.
Just relaxing.
Take in the air.
Smoke a cigar.
Live out in the country.
This is how it should be.
Spring in your eyes –
I feel it there,
the way they smile.
Like winter's heavy cloak,
the days of stress,
simply erased.
I fall in love every spring.
primavera –
the sound,
my hearts favourite word.
Flowers unfurl,
days stretch long and bright,
the sizzle of barbecue,
and your birthday light.
Woman's Day,
I carry blooms to Mom,
her smile, a sunbeam warm.
You also bring flowers to me,
and my heart feels soft,
and again I see your smile.
Birth of nature's green
long nights in the yard,
birth of the day,
and the quiet joy
of birthdays in the Spring.
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