Season-ings

To witness growth
one must take a step back
but not remove themselves
from speculation,
change, like belief and bubbles
alter in temperature and light.

As the gardener cannot see his progress
the bloom feels its way,
leaning on its stem,
aiming was its own reward.

Mothers are often blinded
by this slim proximity
notice the pulling chord
that is heard as heartstrings
plucked.

She knows all things grow over night,
the young years thunder on tired legs,
over time, the smell of blooms and bodies
become intoxicating,
telling.

It felt like Summer,
it was Spring by morning.
the light rushed in
ahead of the sweeping breeze,
but we knew it was coming,
we smelled the way
things change.


Painting by Frédéric Bazille [Public domain], c. 1866-67 via Wikimedia Commons.

Look (it) up

Anyway, it was a woman

who actually spoke first.

“I smell a rat!”

said no Henry or Hamlet

Hard(l)y a Thomas, nary a Richard but a Jane Doe

made this first lament 

despite the great efforts spent

assigning credit-worthiness, 

sighting the source, casting quoted blame

upon small creatures.

And ultimately, it comes to require

repetition, a mask

of sense-ability, or sorts

of ilk and stank disguised with must.

The woman slips into the cloak,

it spreads across the floor.

The folded entity

has been

erased from the scene. 

A mole scurries out from the hem

leaving a mark of beauty 

above the spoken word.

Painting by Giovanni Segantini [Public domain], c. 1891 via Wikimedia Commons.

Thumb Rules

I learned recently how to measure the length of a lei,

officially, circle-length of Aloha, which is

akin to the foot length of the forearm-

between the wrist and elbow-

you find a number true to you and I

By 

some magic formulae.

I studied the man taking long counting strides,

his lips moving,

as he measured the distance

between us

as if following a treasure map

leading to nothing.

At the last minute meeting,

the Scottish Architect wanted to know 

how many trees must go?

And he asked about the slope situation 

and the root removal.

Half the canopy distance wise-safer than sorry. 

And the roots must remain

for erosion control.

This was no rule of thumb but

the architect squinted and 

reconsidered his angle.

As it was above,

so it was below.

With the measurements being equal,

the length of walking away,

by the width of a tree,

the gold coins were spread

lavishly.

Image: Il Tratto di Scientia d'Arme (Camillo Agrippa), 1553 (Second guard of Camillo Agrippa in his 1553 treatise) in Public Domain.

In-digestion

Days filled out to the horizon edges

Ever seeking water, buying bottles of it, disposables

Toilet paper by the ton weight-compostable

and "What’s for dinner?”

Not in that order, in between

laundry loads.

“Do termites eat bamboo?”

He asked me. Seems to be.

The pergola’s slatted skeleton roof 

has become brittle, weathered, withered. 

“Recycling slow,” I finally say,

“We won't have to take it down when we go,”

I looked up to the source of the birdsong,

while he looked down, inspecting
insect droppings.

How he despised any discussion

of death; Post-facto.

While I was preoccupied

making beds, tucking in the corners,

he overlooked the white noise

roar of termites digesting all edges
between inside and out. 

Photo credit: me (Pergola, 2016)

Growth

The poet steps away from the poem(s)
but feels
the groundwater trickle
nourishing the green.




Painting By Fyodor Vasilyev (1850—1873) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

A certain ring

Not only is my smartphone listening
to every word

there is the Universe
(which must receive so many messages
the black box is always full)
-proof-

of echoes, ripples, whole
motes of dust
in Brownian motion
waving.

I mentioned the name as it came to me.
My daughter likes the little names
I give other peoples pets.
                    A name that starts with a B
she says to me-
Baxter
                    Baxter! The woman calls
yanking the leash,
                    C'mon, she pleads.

Of course much has changed besides
my voice, my tone, my hair, my skin,
and I need to start over-
and I need a wage
when
a dear old friend calls me out of the
grey,
to catch up, to ask a favor, to present
an opportunity.

Meanwhile, my daughter and I attend a lecture,
I worry she will be bored, get lost in the
terminology,
so I compare thee
Nobel to Oscar
at the Academies

There the man of the hour,
Professor, Author, Scientist, Poet, mentor
mentions the film industry
as an analogy

Have you ever seen a one-man show?

You know
somewhere, someone
is listening
to a podcast, to music, to poetry, to birds,
to the running water
for a sign of life.

The signal dissipates
not hitting any home.

Evidently-
the Universe reads our clouds.




 Painting by Sophie Anderson (1823-1903), 'Birdsong' in [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

An Art a part

On PBS the show "Civilization(s)" or some such name,
chronicals the human
                                 
                                 amongst humanity.

In a sense, the dawn of man
thru the hours
to the twilight of Idols.

                                         The
                                  form of self
                            fashioned by and from
                   some self-wanting to express
                                self by making
                                  another self.

Michelangelo famously pardoned his images
(from exile on the mountain),
like Capone on Alcatraz (the Rock)

-sharpness being no more requisite of tooling
than persistence in method(ology).

I doubt they knew
                     who was waiting on the other side. The face emerges
masked in fine dust.
It is a face of surprise
that does not expect
the stranger standing
                                 before Him.

The idea came to me-I did not go to it
                                 and yet
the unexpected visitor
leads the way
                                 by blocking the wrong path-
ways, giving way
to avalanches and mudslides and this (re)arrangement
was an expression                               of liberation
                                from the body.

Water will
evaporate eventually,
the granite
breaks
down
its crystal components.

The two cannot compare

Maker and Made.



 Painting by Lovis Corinth, c. 1904 in [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.