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?
Emil Catt, was it you?
bleeding down my back rock wall.
Snow is on its way
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
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.
Hail be damned! Lilies,
thumb their bright noses
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 the breath of all those allergic
to the simple things of Spring.
THE POPPIES ARE BLOOMING!
BLUE VINCA, SPECIES GERANIUM, CLEMATIS
THE LAST OF THE RED TULIPS
BURGUNDY PANSIES WITH BRIGHT FACES
HANSA AND HEIRLOOM ROSES ON THE HILL
THE OCCASIONAL, BLASTED DANDELION
LORD! YOU HAVE OUTDONE YOURSELF THIS SPRING!
ps I tried this in lower case, but only caps catch the excitement!
My sweet Lord! that hill
awash with heavenly blue
soothes a heavy heart
choke cherry blooming
delicately sweet soft blooms
jam in the making
MY SWEET ASH!
I know, I know, I know, I know
The borers hit their mark,
split and shriveled up your lovely trunk,
cracked your lovely bark.
I cannot, cannot, cannot do it,
cut you down, I mean,
you could, you might, you may leaf out
to shade the hot back scene.
La la la la la la la
my eyes and ears I cover…
if I refuse to see, to hear
perhaps you will recover.
rJo Herman 4/6/16