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TO HELL WITH RESALE

Eleven Eleven Ninety Nine,

the day this comfortable house became mine.

It matches, first glance, all others round the block

Same roof, same shutters, same initial plant stock.

I should be ashamed, as a child of sixties fame.

They ARE all made of ticky tacky, and they all DO look the same.

Tho’ they’ve  changed o’er these years as we’ve lived, loved, and lost.

I’ve added, for instance, more  flowers than most.

More daisies, more lilies, more iris, more roses.

Bright poppies reseeded for great June poses.

Even my tree, my poor suffering ash

grows against odds ’round its cruel looking gash

where we cut out the blight caused by dastardly bugs.

The pesticide worked, ‘long with frequent tree hugs.

Yes, the yard, front and back, is chaotic, small splendor,

Like the kind you would get putting all in a blender.

Not the neat, fine order of my neighbors’ straight bricks,

rather,  here a plot, there a pot, grape ivy ’round sticks.

A prickly, old rose from the ancient prairie (I did not plant it)

crowds the bargain lilac near the Hansa quite hairy (I do like it).

I planted six strawberries, back in two thousand two,

which now reach a couple hundred growing where they want to.

Inside my small castle, things are not much finer

by the standards of any highly paid designer.

I know hardwood floors are the dream of most.

I chose commercial carpet; black and tan,  the color of toast.

It’s dark like a floor, and comfy, and soft,

and though a bit tailored, would look great in a loft.

My walls? well they’re sad, with colors galore.

I paint was high as I can reach, then I am loath to do more.

It makes me tired, my arm hurt, that’s all I will say

It’ll all get done some fine day.

My furniture suits me…my long, green leather couch,

my Eastlake setee, where my Grands like to slouch.

The turntable ready to give the Allmans a spin.

The trolls, and the books, and the crucifix – thin.

From the cross hangs a dearskin medicine bag,

hand beaded for me,  a gift from an dear hag.

(Forgive me, dear Margaret Forster, wherever you are,

it’s just that hag rhymed.  YOU are truly a star).

I shall continue this analysis at a later date.

There’s work to be done that simply cannot wait.

Time to head to the front “office,” with its red IKEA chair

and the bed with the red quilt.  Emil Catt is always there.

Adieu.

 

 

 

 

 

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FLEDGLINGS

What privileged robins live in my back yard…

racing through the sprinkler, barely giving me any notice…

but WHO, may I ask, tipped over the big blue pot under the umbrella?

Hmm?

Emil Catt, was it you?

FALL ON THE ROCKS

Virginia Creeper

bleeding down my back rock wall.

Snow is on its way

10/11/16

humbled

I am kept ever humble…

whilst tearing out  errant vinca vines from out the front garden, I reached down to pull up my sagging socks, only to realize ’twas the skin round my ankles drooping there

INTERLOPER

I see you bindweed

riding Virginia Creeper

across the back wall.

Do not even think

I will allow you to stay,

after all the hail.

 

 

8/6/16

DEFIANCE

Hail be damned!  Lilies,

despite annihilation,

thumb their bright noses

 

6/26/16

FUZZ

I cannot see it, but

somewhere nearby stands a cottonwood

with rustling, sparkling leaves,

deep, spreading roots,

long, rough barked branches

and  cotton snow

drifting through the air,

sticking to bricks on the front porch,

attaching to the back umbrella,

floating atop the sprinkler water filling the morning gutters,

catching in my hair,

packing into the corners of those screens not shredded by the recent hail,

and clogging drains,

clogging nostrils,

clogging the breath of all those allergic

to the simple things of Spring.

 

 

 

BLOOMING

THE  POPPIES ARE BLOOMING!

PURPLE IRIS

WHITE IRIS

YELLOW IRIS

BLUE VINCA, SPECIES GERANIUM, CLEMATIS

THE LAST OF THE RED TULIPS

PINK CARNATIONS

BURGUNDY PANSIES WITH BRIGHT FACES

HANSA AND HEIRLOOM ROSES ON THE HILL

CASCADING LOBELIA

LILACS, VIOLETS

THE OCCASIONAL, BLASTED DANDELION

LORD!  YOU HAVE OUTDONE YOURSELF THIS SPRING!

AMEN!

 

 

ps  I tried this in lower case, but only caps catch the excitement!

 

 

 

 

 

 

VINCA MAGIC

My sweet Lord!  that hill

awash with heavenly blue

soothes a heavy heart

 

 

 

NaPoWriMo Day 8

 

choke cherry blooming

delicately sweet soft blooms

jam in the making