Monday, April 21, 2014

Jargon jaunting: part possibili-pea

simply dressed seed
in botanical tweed
signifying its breed
and herbaceous creed

be it a tiny creeper
a run-about peeper
a high-stepping leaper
or a stand-alone weeper

then perhaps a giant
much too tall and defiant
becoming tipsy and reliant
on yet another giant

whatever it might be
it's surely a possibili-pea
when a gardener on knee
takes to the earth a plea

this of course after the snow
and when south winds blow
does the gardener till the dough
in hope that a plant might grow

so it's rather simple to see
any size from teeny to lofty tree
can come from gardening glee
when planting a possibili-pea

Saturday, April 19, 2014

The lilac now left behind

only down forgotten roads
this floral sentinel will find
overgrown grassy yard and
the lilac now left behind

absent windows in stone
open to the passing of time
a home still fenced in by
the lilac now left behind

Henry's bushels of wheat
and Anna's mulberry wine
sold to purchase what is
the lilac now left behind

young hands took blooms
for MayDay baskets to line
yearly harvested from
the lilac now left behind

weary lives led to know
how love is truly defined
lives still blooming in
the lilac now left behind

generations have come and
gone abandoning their kind
for memorial it remains
the lilac now left behind

Friday, April 18, 2014

Fallow fellow

a wind in the mouth
of a grinning field
rolling around the
old man's lips, smoke
spiraling down draws

teeth have already
chewed the crust
so that other smaller
teeth may chew
another baked crust

no crust be made
though if those grays
and whites won't
let loose the reigns
and roll out the dough

dough of the wiggles
that nibble the crust
making sure crusted
hands' work don't go
bust later in the dust

that wind rolls round
on chewed up crust
a field steaming in
mornings full of
wishing, wanting, lust

Thursday, April 17, 2014

Trees seven

on the isles of Celtic seas the seven sacred trees

oddly the alder with damp feet
catkins sweet to stirring bees
short marsh trees that do all
but bleed when met with blade
their white wood red betrayed
for Bran's robes they don
as purple crows royal as swan
in fair-maiden kin the birch's twin

apple fruits long the pursuits
of fae and men and serpent sin
to bear the soul to lead the way
to mark lover's grave on rainy day
and feed for full a month or more
yet crave for the fairy adore
in older tongue twas uball or afal
save one in the tree for the man of apple

better you than me to bless the
yew tree and guess what we'll see
in midnight roads croaking of toads
and stools neigh sleep, the roots do creep
of immortal arms and limbs to
measure mortal men's masks or whims

of a divination clash, a Wednesday
for the ash too sacred to slash
with axe's blade dared not to swing
with thorn and oak it was triad king
and two of a kind be the berried to find
then fend off the fae with flowers of May
yet seed pods have found keys to fairy mound

hazel as alder and elder you'll see
not a mighty towering tree, yet it may be
the tree of life and nut of the wise
all be this in a dwarf shrubbery guise
to divine water forked hazels will totter
too, sacred to the poet, aye don't I know it

thus the elder as well, no great height to tell
but many times rich it be the form of a witch
and laden with sweet blooms and berries
if growing alone more than likely the fairies'

the last tree to invoke of course is the oak
a mighty spoke in the turning wheel of life
its flowers helped create a warrior's wife
Daron's devotees under oaks aimed to please
and mistletoe and two white bulls were slain
in its presence for fertile ground and rain
the fairy folks love old oaks, ash and thorn the three

on the isles of Celtic seas the seven sacred trees

Wednesday, April 16, 2014

The knave

promise of fruits
in swollen stem tips
promise spoken from
twitching blue lips

kisses from bitches
dressed in lacy white
who can't stay within
their Decembering night

yet a knight's needed
to slay the frigid stay
stab and jab and draw
the blinds of a warm day

but only can be found
a barking dog of a knave
to take from the people
what is sure as the grave

different is the green
the knave searches for
far from what grows
on the shaded forest floor

still a different green's
found within the knave's eyes
the same of the dead
ruled by the lord of flies

lives lavish the knave
with trees of hollow trunks
in company of either or
drunks or monks or skunks

for this forest, these trees
gnarl and twist to please
but blossom with toxins
to obliterate working bees

promise of fruits hidden
within the sticky ends
promise frozen burnt
by the knave and his friends

Monday, April 14, 2014


unearthed desires
yellow crimson fires
exposed in full to
lure to haunt to
pray in meadow
sweet sweat

exhumed choir
tempting crier
echoing over dell
in floating breeze
in waking bees
in seductive tease

blatantly bred
carnal colors wed
dusty anthers tickle
taunt exuding pistils

trickles honey crystals
within memories of
polar winds and
southern solar trends

the twins to lead
the bull to fertile
green and his
blooming brides

proliferation crowns
adorn the heights and
grounds for sipping,
for sniffing, for plucking

Sunday, April 13, 2014

Tree rouse

what eager waits
under weathered
facade now enriched
with coursing memories

returned the sun
that rises in the
subterranean sky
on its memorial course

a play on worlds
of seen and missed
from light reaching in
to soak up and drench

through twining
routes flaring cells
flash to fall within both
harbored heavens and hells

chambers tumble
in tunneled path
where giants had suckled
fumes and volcanic wrath

blushes warmth
the winter bleached
when once receded stars
again shine bright branches

and birth the bloom
from dripping wax
in rejoicing revelry days
the frozen reign has passed

Saturday, April 12, 2014

Spring rose

gold faded
copper tan and
dusky silver hair

fallen from fair
arms that have
prayed through
frozen words
and absent birds

risen from fallen
hair, youth of
new yet known
seeds already
sown before
within the floor

lifting hands
young in what
the birds have
sung or sing
beyond winter
icy sting

fragile meek
and mild, the
wilds speak in
green crisp
tongues of
the old turned
new once more

Friday, April 11, 2014

April's song

whistle when
the April wind
in evening calm
and rising dawn

birds of black
and others back
chatter tunes
morns to noons

yet in the night
and quiet quite
the still is still
no buggy trill

so on what beast
these birds will feast
whatever wiggles
muddy squiggles

robin in lawn
a look bygone
of dino spawn

a peck of that
after winter fat
gone more to thin
in April wind

Thursday, April 10, 2014

Lady in a spotted dress

little lady
spotted dress
yawn from slumber
awake to this

dancing atop
cobalt stage
orange and onyx
a winged cape cage

little lady
silver stems
faded azure
papery gems

threshing about
bundled birth
scattered across
freshly turned earth

little lady
large bright eyes
into the spring
away she flies