Through the door and across the
sodden field
I can see a solitary tree
Springing like a bow released
Recoiled and coiled over again
Flagging on the passage
Of the next rain shower:
CAUTION!
Rainfall ahead for the next ten miles.
And then without prelude or
Even a polite introduction
It falls in a common chorus of
paradiddles,
Pop-corning drops on the fabric
roof,
Teasing like a big brother,
Will it ever crease, or will it
met out
In such random measure
Just a bit now, to gently remind
And quite a bit more later
To put me in my place,
Which seems to be
Somewhere damp
And in between
Fish and fowl?
Have I opened your eyes
So only that you may see the painful future
Have I not taught you to know
That there is so little that can be done
Except to brace for the oncoming blow
Have I been the fool
That has made fools out of many
Offering false hopes
Have I done so little good
And stolen so much precious time
Knowing that I might have done more
If not for playing the game so given
The game of fear and weakness and selfishness.
I don’t trust the rain
Though I love it
Drumming overhead…
But it seems too much
And again too little
Filling gauges to overflowing
Washing away the dreams
Of gardens and groves
Carving and scarring
It wakes me
But not now filled or satiated
But rather fishing for breath
It has turned mean in this age
Vengeful
Moving us to higher ground
Hills heaped with uncertainty
Changing both mountain and valley
Changing in a new rhythm that
Will make a new dance.
If you want to plant a garden
I have some seeds that I can share
Green beans, they will give you strength
As you see them grow emerald
With flowers pale but
Ripe with potential.
Or perhaps some Morning Glories
Ringing their blue bells optimistically?
Maybe you could knit some socks?
I have been collecting tufts of wool
That the sheep volunteer.
Or give a neighbor a ride to town?
Don’t let that empty seat taunt you for
It will surely haunt you.
There is still time to turn your heart and hearth
There is still time to teach and learn.
It is our choice…
The world may forgive us
Eventually.
It is in its nature
And so to ours.
Avocados for instance
-Unless you live in the tropics
Where they grow on trees-
Are store bought as hard as calculus
Piled like some green cairn
On your fools purchase-path
So then set aside to ripen, hopefully
The clock with no hands begins to tick
And as likely as not
When you next attain visiting rights
And press with an expectant finger
They are mush, disappointingly
A midwinter’s slush
And just to be assured of you ill-fated timing
You slice it open, only to be
Eyed by that massive passive seed
That winks at the secret it holds:
Avocados are only perfectly ripe,
Just the moment before they
Go rotten.
Wanderers
seldom lose their way
Stepping
forward anew each day
The
path depending on the wind
How to
begin and where to end?
And
much to our new found surprise
A
moment that inside us lies
A
twist that flames from hidden spark
A
course when done can only mark
A
sojourn then to find again
That
unknown home around the bend.
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