Cuttings - Spring
By Mike Garofalo
Red Bluff, Tehama County, Northern California
head on hand
eyes down –
whiskey breath
Dry wind
–
the sweetness
of the last cherry.
Last day of Spring
ripe purple plums drop –
form is emptiness.
First day of Summer
ditch completely dry –
emptiness is form.
Thousands of leaves
shake in the breeze –
empty sky.
ticking my life away
indifferent clocks
everywhere
Walking the fence line, eyes downcast;
Humming a rock tune, smiling at last.
hand
on head
eyes down –
whiskey breath
Lathhouse shade
–
the scent of honeysuckle
fills the shadows.
Dirty hand, callused palm,
black fingernails –
Green Thumb
headless mouse
by the back door
ruthless cat
Ahh! The wide almond groves in full white
flower
Stunning in the morning sun.
Old naked Winter in his garb of grays
and browns has run.
Forsythia blooms come and go in the blink of a yellow Eye,
Then, suddenly, mysteriously, Green erupts; and we sigh.
walking in the weeds
sneezing
into the spring breeze
Easter
morning –
rising
over stones
poppies.
Under our floor,
spider families.
Two worlds,
an inch apart.
covered with ants
–
dead lizard
disappearing ..... bit by bit
often
Wide mind, Deep feelings
poemless
Red Bluff Ro'day'o
Rounding e'm up –
pointy toed boots and Stetsons
A homeless man shivers in the sunshine.
Home of the free; land of the hungry.
Sunday rest
on shaded grass -
sermons by cherry blossoms.
Magpies hop and squawk to start our day,
begging for dog food in the feeder tray.
a long drag,
a slow exhale –
deeper into dreams
No flowers, no bees;
No bees, no flowers.
Blooming and buzzing,
Buzzing and blooming;
Married and still in Love.
trenches dug –
sore back
tired arms
black cows
fattened on high green grass
shadowed by black clouds
Old frog
crawls out of hole–
croak!
The thousandth time
the train tracks roared –
dogs again bark back.
Up and down, up and down, up and down;
two hummingbirds fussing round and round.
A woodpecker's knock
Cracks the quiet sky
Echoing off hardwoods
The force of Spring -
mysterious,
fecund,
powerful beyond measure.
Cloudless morning
pale blue sky –
lonely meadowlark's cry.
one toad
occasionally croaking –
lonely garden
Unafraid of demons
baffled by the zig-zag bridge –
the yellow carp swims
straight on.
Nimble fingers picking
fistfuls of cherries –
spitting pits.
cottonwood fluff
stuck to dry weeds –
silent wind chimes
The Mind is a vast Bodhi forest,
The body a Bodhi tree.
Dirt is in every cranny,
Flowers blossom, leaves fall.
The Bodhi Trees have been cut down,
The Bright Mirrors shattered.
Beginning with nothing,
Replant the trees, remake the mirrors.
Make one's mind like a mirror,
One's body like the Giving tree.
Reflect accurately and impartially;
Give fruit and shade.
-
Above the Fog
Good weather all the week, but come the weekend
the weather stinks.
Springtime for birth, Summertime for growth; and all Seasons for dying.
Ripening grapes in the summer sun - reason enough to plod ahead.
Springtime flows in our veins.
Beauty is the Mistress, the gardener Her salve.
A soul is colored Spring green.
Complexity is closer to the truth.
All metaphors aside - only living beings rise up in the Springtime; dead beings
stay quite lie down dead.
Winter does not turn into Summer; ash does not turn into firewood - on
the chopping block of time.
Fresh fruit from the tree - sweet summertime!
Gardens are demanding pets.
Shade was the first shelter.
When the Divine knocks, don't send a prophet to the door.
One spring and one summer to know life's hope; one autumn and one winter to know
life's fate.
Somehow, someway, everything gets eaten up, someday.
Relax and be still around the bees.
Paradise and shade are close relatives on a summer day.
Absolutes squirm beneath realities.
The spiders, grasshoppers, mantis, and moth larva are all back: the summer
crowd has returned!
To garden is to open your heart to the sky.
Dirty fingernails and a calloused palm precede a Green Thumb.
Time will tell, but we often fail
to listen.
Seeing with one eye and
feeling with the other does help bring things into focus.
Round things are very nice - fruit,
women, the earth.
Gardening is a passion to continue,
despite failure and uncertainty.
The empty garden is already
full.
Gardeners learn to live in worm
time, bee time, and seed time.
- Pulling
Onions, by Michael P. Garofalo
Flesh to flesh
mating –
May-flies
Weeds turn yellow as the days grow long;
we move the sprinkler on the lawn.
Cuttings: February March April May June
|
Months and Seasons |
|||
Copyrighted © 2008 by Michael P.
Garofalo.
Green Way Research, Red Bluff, California.
All rights reserved.
I Welcome Your Comments, Ideas, Contributions, and
Suggestions
E-mail Mike Garofalo in Red Bluff, California
Cuttings: Spring: March, April, May, June Days
Haiku, Concrete and
Short Poems by Michael P. Garofalo
First
Distributed on the Internet WWW in September 1999.
Cuttings - Haiku, Concrete, and Short Poems by Mike Garofalo
