Three Haiku
I.
Grotto Falls
slows to a trickle
I pray for rain
II.
Young falcon
squawks at the nest cam
Peregrine drama
III.
teens in swim trunks
stroll neighborhood streets at noon
summer begins
I.
Grotto Falls
slows to a trickle
I pray for rain
II.
Young falcon
squawks at the nest cam
Peregrine drama
III.
teens in swim trunks
stroll neighborhood streets at noon
summer begins
Indeed, it is the first of June
an almanac within assures.
It tells me when the season’s right
and what’s worth bearing until I die.
That almanac within me now
nudges: avoid what gives no joy
or isn’t worth bearing until you die
just plant impatiens while your lilies stand by.
Nudged to avoid what gives no joy
I’m off to watch my clematis bloom,
plant impatiens while my lilies sway
and do what needs tending to finish my day.
Yes, I’ll sit and watch my clematis bloom
taking time to tend to the first of June
and the needs of my day while answering pleas
with: not till the season’s right for me.
Two men, unclad in each other’s arms
Fingers between fingers;
fantasy forged like a parking lot is paved—
somewhere to leave it all behind
Two men, uncharted
exploring the unknown. Made from madness,
from equidistance and entropy, unto an impulse in of peas in a pod
Two men, unsheathed,
drawn eye to eye; guy to guy; lie to lie
Two men,
Car parts among oil cans
Old telephone cable spools
turned picnic tables
where we shot the moon
If your eyes glance away
I see it, looking at your watch
Am I speaking too long, too fast
Not fast enough
The wind comes in
from the southwest
Black angus in a field of buttercups
Poke berries in a dry rot tire
My sister says I’ll listen
to you honey but she’s not the one
whose notice I want
cradle hand, queen mother, her.
Mid-summer at its peak now.
Oak leaf hydrangea,
languorous, drooping lush
with white blossoms. They hang
pendulous as breasts.
She could never be happy
til they were trimmed to nubbins.
A sharp blade and broken stems
all over the ground. One year,
in fury at their mutilation,
petulant as a child, I announced
I want to move.
She had destroyed my plants,
killed my desire to be here.
Now, of course they’re back,
heavy with the weight of beauty,
a reminder of my folly,
all that’s now gone.
1) From one crisis to another
he recalls his cry of the drought-stricken tears
of his early livelihood, his widowed mother
out the window in her rose garden
growing her prizes in an oval bed
bordered by rocks painted white
or his own early attempts with the hoe
where the spent life of perfectly
marvelous melons existed as witnesses
to how the flame of life leaps
to the tongue
3) Now his old tractor off limits
Sun behind the ridge
lights morning mist.
Quiet holds sway
in the hills.
Mercurial fortune
bestows the day.
Life in the main
well blessed.
Bright morning chorus
fills the heart mourning.
Joyful revival
of purpose.
One summerI took a job as a Holiday Inn housekeeper
with a friend. We worked tandem with experienced older
Pennsylvania Dutch women. They schooled us on
efficiency, speed, and teamwork. Beds were made
military style with corners tucked tight. No monkey
business allowed especially on days when there were
32 rooms to clean in an 8 hour shift. Those no-nonsense
women hustled us in the sultry July heat hurrying home
to their families waiting for dinner.
“Housekeeping!” I yelled as usual turning the key
since no answer came from the other side. I witnessed
monkey business galore! A spider monkey jumped
on the bed, shrieked with delight then ran to the dresser
using his spiral tail and nimble hands to wipe his poo
all over the mirror laughing hysterically. It was a side
show circus. His cage wide open from his crafty hands.
My partner called the office. ” We are not cleaning room
202 with that monkey on the loose again!”
No answer next door in Room 203. So I walked in to
witness a naked man on the slick made bed lying in
wait with a full-on boner. I screamed and ran out
shouting, “No more Monkey Business today!”
