Scenes from the Blue Garden: part 10

Grass flowers

  

I spy outside my window

a tiny bird simply sitting there

without a worry or a care

so still the little sparrow be

amidst the fallen blades of green

and as I spy so too does he

upon his world of fallen green

the newly turned darkened dirt

wet with rain and freshly sown seed

so strange this moment

I share with the little bird

as we both pause without a word

to simply stop in life's busy hours

and remember the stand of grass flowers

it once ran from fence to fence

and bellowed waves with the winds

and sparkled in the dawning rays

harboring a multitude of residents

the rains spawned fungi spore

as I found tiny mushrooms

and too the many clover blooms

which claimed the land as "ours"

under dancing stems of grass flowers 

the reach tempted me to tarry there

as the tiny bird without a care

and laid me down amidst the stand

to listen close to the grassy prayer 

Jargon jaunting: part 'cept for

ignore who wore
the crowns and scepters

look more to your
own frowning specters

a past in class
of "look-down" receptors

the caste amassed
in surrounding sectors

'cept for...
'cept for...
the squalling lector

'cept for...
'cept for...
the call of nectar

implore the cores
of all defectors

restore and shore,
enthrall protectors

deplore the lore
of pol directors

explore, care for,
above all, connectors

'cept for...
'cept for...
the gall in vectors

'cept for...
'cept for...
the thrall of scepters

May pull

it stands behind the house

with arms full of green hands

and dances with those winds

that bring the clouds to earth

dance partners they may be

in overcasts and humid shade

both letting go inhibitions

as they flow through each other

the wind releasing wet breath

an essence of stirring kiss

the tree releasing paddled seeds

promises spinning in the breezy sea

in the multitudes they set sail

from the arms full of green hands

to twirl and spin and float and fall

and fill the grass with whirlwind wings

Brain bomb

a ticking brain bomb
tick tick tick...
a mental mine to some

those aching coils
tightened within the skull
beating, throbbing in
time with the ticking bomb

inferno of the boil
fueled by cerebral toil

tick tick tick...
behind brow the bomb

heavy the head
pushing and pulling
grinding the stem
the pestle within the
bowl of the neck

the spinal rod churns
the fuse that burns

crimped and shorted
the white serpent tail
slithering the tether

hissing in pressure
under counting bomb
tick tick tick...

Beyond

beyond the steeple spires
burn the eternal holy fires
that blaze over older skies
chariots charted by the wise

beyond the cathedral gray
burns the eye of golden day
that watches those below
under sailing solar halo

beyond the temple dome
where the wild angels roam
in their chaotic placid home
of auroras and dimming gloam

beyond the churchyard gates
where the endless path waits
to whisk away the fallen leaves
into silken sequential weaves

beyond the faithful's sin
and death's breathtaking when
dances the infinite rings
in love, souls, and other things

Sow

early hours of
Spring's early days
he goes to court the field

kneels low to
earthen furrows
drawn by iron and sweat

his brow still
bearing the dew
of his heavy burdens

he bows low
to that of which
his body came and eats

he kneels to
the bare earth
to caress its flesh

he feels its
warmth rise
in the early hours

a naked lover
rising at the dawn
under sheets of dew

his fingers slip
across the crusted dirt
that has sipped the falling rain

his forefinger
presses through that
skin to soft moist soil

his finger
seeks its warmth
lying underneath

the warmth
to tempt his hand
to spill and sow the seed

his finger
must feel that
warmth to know

the warmth
when right will
tell him when to sow

to drill the
stark earthen flesh
and spill and fill with seed

the bare field
yet waits for feel
of drill and spill of seed

too early in
the days of Spring
he has come to court the field

the Fires

soul driven machines
that wander plains of this

the madness in physical
formats and guidelines

the destitute of skin
stretched calcium screens

behind which the fires
seer and boil and stir

within dust of long ago
beacons in celestial dark

tiny whirling fires these
threads of matter casings

so eager to revel in
their constant orgies

for wings to fly
and tadpoles grow

for brains to discern
be it a friend or foe

for wind to sweep
lacy flakes of snow

for boulders to stand
while nearby rivers flow

layered the fires
throughout and deep within

of metal and stone
and earth and tar

of scratch and bruise
and harm and scar

of serfs and merchants
and nobles and czars

of moons and comets
and planets and stars

a mandala of matter
in bud and bloom to fade

flowing from wounds
to ignite once again

same fires are these that
have chosen new lanterns

Latent lovers

latent lovers
these bitter petals
that flutter as feathers
down from lofty perch
through stark arms of birch

latent lovers
these weary petals
that faint in hot weather
and drift in surrender sweet
in swift breathy kisses of heat

latent lovers
these withered petals
that are pulled with tether
of warming days in month of May
to sullen soil watching the overhead play

latent lovers
these tired petals
that cascade into nether
and splay across the moist earth
remembering the womb of their birth

latent lovers
no longer these petals
that at my naked feet gather
for they have blessed their mother
and will rise again to ever love another

The pain of grain

I bought of wheat what I ought to eat
but I ate of dough way much mo'e
and of the oats in leaky boats
I ate the pool seeped into gruel

did I stop? NIGH! there was the rye
and trumped a pickle with pumpernickel
said to the barley, "See ya Charlie!"
in a malted jelly, which was quite smelly!

alas a bowl of rice, well, 'tis merely nice
but was rather bland as a desert sand
and of the corn I was very torn
yet decidedly opted to have it popped

on the quinoa we did gnaw
a taste enchant of amaranth
and some other grain that escapes this brain
too many to name I thus claim

so forget these words, 'tis for the birds
of rye and oat you'll only bloat
remember your greens to fit in your jeans
and save your money for nuts and honey!