Calling Card

 

The trees wear

their greenest

fullest array

decked out

in extravagant hoop skirts

at the summer gala

Bright blooms dance

and breezes whisper

soft as violins

Autumn waits

shy of entering

a hint of color

a waft of smoke

drifts with August's

warm perfume

A single red leaf

dropped

The calling card

of the season

soon to come

172/602

Peripheral

 

Have I already

broken the promise

I made?

When the green

caught my eye

I wept

for the day gone

Lady Sun

has cloaked herself

in layers of cloud

that nevertheless

reflect her glow

Is it too late

to stand barefoot

on the grass

and breathe?

If I make the time

there will be time

171/603

Passed/Past

The quiet moments
the ordinary
the this-time-everyday
routine
the comfort
of the familiar
faces
places
hash marks
on the clock
numbers
on the calendar
only valued
when
passed

170/602

 

Lost

 

Summer

so exuberant

so abandoned

you could

lose yourself

in its spontaneous mazes

of flower

vine

and leaf

emerging

perhaps

in a grove

ablaze with

autumn leaves

or a field

of sparkling

winter white

169/601

Milestone

As one stride

then another

becomes a marathon

One pebble

and another

a shoreline

One kindness

and another

change

Each word

each moment

each day

becomes the life

I want

to be living

                                                                                                                                                    168/600

Early together

 

Our quiet time

is near its end

Lady Sun

as summer wanes

and days shorten

I'll miss your

calm companionship

your daily display

of magnificent

magnanimous color

I'll go out

in the dark

hoping to catch

a glimpse

Don't let me forget

you are waiting

Filling the cup

First
sunrise
Then
the canopy 
of summer leaves
like a river of green
flowing through the city
Then 
food savored
and words 
sincerely meant
Then
the fatigue
that comes with effort
not anxiety

from moving

not standing still

Finally

blue sky

and flowers

The drone of cicadas

a drowsy sound

a peaceful

litany

 

Tiny Worlds

 

The worlds we create

as children

full of color

and juxtapositions

Cars fly

and animals talk

and the flowers

are as big as beach umbrellas

shading treasure chests

of sparkle

Fairy and 

gnome

frog 

and hedgehog

astronaut

and 

superhero

Citizens

of our imagination

and friends.

In the garden

 

In the garden

the flowers

jostle

in a happy crowd

leaf to leaf

and flower 

to flower

to flower

Butterflies

drift

like animated petals

fluttering

on a warm

August breeze.

The Waiting Time 8/22

 

Autumn's color
only comes
with waning days
and autumn's chill
The touch
that sparks
a chemical reaction
and lights the fire
of scarlet
orange
and yellow
Blazing
then
scattering
Snow waits
not as distant
as we think
in the wings
with the white
of winter

Read this, too

Moods

 

Above

pavement

still wet

from a brief shower

dark

blends into

violet

then orange

bursting to gold

The bowl

of the sky

holds all

for a moment

Each hue distinct

All outcomes

possible

Composition

 

Clouds

a scattering

of muscial notes

for Lady Sun

to sing

at dawn

Waning

 

Summer

is waning

Flowers

ragged at the edges

Leaves stretched wide

or curling in

The sky

scrubbed

and fading

at the horizon

Everything

drowsy

diluted

dilatory

Tiny noises

The only clock
that ticks
a sound
so rare
perhaps
even archaic
The check
that marks
the moments
Its rhythm sooths
and yet
its movement
hastens
the hours
that pass
in tiny
increments

Figurative

After storms
the river
revives
Fish leap
the breach
between
rocks
and the heron
hunts again
I want this
to be a metaphor
but human
desire
and design
brought us here
stranded
in a wasteland
of our own
making

Stung

For the yellow jacket that stung me 

I would say

you intended no harm 

but our defenses 

often harm others

as my angry swat 

left you

broken

Now I contemplate

afternoon

through the screen

and nurse 

my small injuries

 

 

 

Farewell

 

At this crossroad

again

contemplating

a new rhythm

a new dance

a variation

on summer's

slow waltz

as duty cuts in

impatient

and not always

attentive

Looking over my shoulder

I bid this season

farewell

telling myself

just one time

around the floor

promising

to return

Rest

 

As if rest

were a choice

not like air

or water

We choose

shaded quiet

the shelter

of a thousand leaves

that will fall

in a swirling scarlet-orange rainbow

then be swept away

Projecting 8/13/20

 

Twilight

lingers

pulling down 

clouds

and smothering

in a colorless 

hazy pall

Birds hunker

among stilled leaves

even insects

sulk on screens

their buzzing silenced

Everything

takes a breath

and 

waits

Riddles

 

Summer offers

her last riddles

her green code

the treasure map

of flower

and fruit

bud

and berry

Riddle me this

Where will 

warm winds sleep

when winter comes

and blows

August's answers

away?

Mirror

If we come

to look for answers

to gaze intently

but cannot see

past

our own distorted

reflection

black and featureless

in murky water

where is the vision?

Close your eyes

listen

breathe in

feel

dive deeper

then

open your eyes

 

Cicada

 

Cicadas sing

a summer song

Days are still long

but our time

to be is short

so we sing

hoping to be heard

and found

Lessons

 

The flowers of my childhood

come back to me

Touch-Me-Not and 

Jack-in-the-Pulpit

Dandelion

Daisy

Butter and Eggs

Hen and Chicks

The names

my father gave me

linger

the lessons

in the woods

and fields

The flowers come back to me

like his love

New/Renew

Can I escape

down a familiar road

where wild cucumber climbs

beside sumac

already touched

with autumn scarlet?

Can I weave

new dreams

from the tattered ends

and faded fragments

of the old?

Hidden

in summer smothered woods

around the corner

there may still be

something new

or rare

or just forgotten

Lady Sun rises

each day

from the same bed

yet each day

is new

Remainder/Forerunner

Summer holds 

afternoon

in a tight embrace

The air is heavy

with the potential 

of storms

grass scorched

from too little rain

One golden leaf

a fallen star

Remainder

or forerunner

of autumn?

The Other Side

Dry

the deluge

of spring

distant

The debris

the discarded

the dead

and decaying

uncovered

exposed

Yet

something

still flows

hidden but

not silent

emerging

with suppressed power

on

the other side

Faded

                                                                                                                                                                                          

Gathering 

the faded

the fallen

the fragrance

of decay

rubs into

my fingers 

dusty

and too sweet

What lingers

too lovely

to discard

Twin lights

Twilight

twin lights

Sister Moon

and Lady Sun

pass

in the dim

before-dawn

the sky

a bowl

of blue ombre

with pinpricks

of stars

Shadows

Memory

is long

and distorted

like my shadow

at sunrise

stretching

to meet

the August fields

of my childhood

but

never quite

reaching them

Scattered

If I could see

my troubles

as autumn leaves

already fallen

I'd scatter them

for the river

to carry

far

and fast

Lingering

 

Lady Sun

lingers

in her late summer bed

then rises

at her leisure

wrapped

in colors

of autumn

to come