Tag Archives: garden

ORGANIC

 

April in May
busy with cattle,
calves and auction yards—

visiting with solid souls
beneath faces worn outdoors
that follow the stuttering

monotone of auctioneers,
all-day waiting
for bulls too late to brand

in March to sell,
the garden blooms
without me:

peppers and squash,
tendrils of cucumbers
reach for support,

onions bow,
eggplants open arms
as the tomatoes wait

for heat to color
hard green globes.
Eight hundred pounds

without the red iron,
rope or vaccinations—
growing without me.

 

SOMEONE’S MOTHER

 

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Pot with bullet holes
blooming but one day in May
for someone’s mother.

 

THE TROUBLE WITH SHARING

 

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Hole in the orchard filled
with leaky water troughs
of asparagus rockets

breaking free. We felled
the cherry tree the borers killed,
corded-up for winter fires.

We shared the crop,
top branches first
we couldn’t reach until

word got out and left us
pits. Damn Orioles
and their bucket mouths.

 

Wind Gust—Macro-Monday, Weekly-Photo-Challenge: “Blur”

 

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Easter on Dry Creek is normally green and verdant with skiffs of popcorn flowers and patches of poppies on the hillsides. A month ago, I hoped for a long spring and time to photograph this year’s wildflowers with an eye for their expression as life forms, the evolved complexities of each species’ pollination structure, background lines and colors, etc., etc., but Robbin and I have spent the last three days preparing and planting our summer garden instead. C’est la vie!

 

 

wordpress.com/dp_photo_challenge/blur/

 

NOT YET SPRING, 2015

 

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Leftover cedar
logs from the house
twenty-five years ago
                                          paid for
frame a loamy mix
of decomposing granite and clay
            with horse manure
            stirred and piled
            fine as sand
            three years fluffed
            with the skid steer
and fill what could be
a feeder along the fence—
a sixty-foot trough
for bare root raspberries
blackberries
border of red onions
come summer
and it not yet spring.

Like finches building nests
we enlarge the garden
in two half-days,
tend to instincts
warm air brings
and flesh demands
like plowing fingers
in fresh-worked dirt.

We lift another glass
and see colored fruit
years from here
                                          paid-for.

 

 

WPC — “Wall”

 

NARANJA

 

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Beginning to end,
tender loins and fruit on fire
finding Nirvana.

 

 

WPC(1) — “Orange”

 

HOMECOMING

 

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On the low, rocky ridge,
a Roadrunner moans for a mate
in declining octaves—first awake

February mornings, ever hopeful
for a better day of circumnavigating
barn and garden. Then returns

to hear his song carry to the creek
that has found the river now
for the first time in years, tying

dry ground, this canyon together—
breathing easier, whole again,
it spreads coolly through us

as Wood Ducks skip upstream
to feed beneath the canopies
of old oaks and sycamores.

We have learned the call,
draw him closer with an answer
only more rain can bring.

 

ECHINOPSIS AT DAWN

 

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Not a shadow without light,
brief morning flowers
from the blackest night.

 

 

WPC(2) — “Shadowed”

 

SAPSUCKER

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Coffee at dawn, drumming
the Honey Locust—
old men talk, listening.

 

 

DAY ONE

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Since Day One, drawn
to the fire, meat and music—
new words to an old song.

 

 

WPC(3) — “Minimalist”