The Gardener
Santa Clara, CA 95051
theroot_
FLAT BUSH©
TROLL BOOTH BOOGIE
Rumpelstiltskin could be a table leg
or a turn stile
but no, it's got to be a fairy tale
history is written by the victors?
humbug!
step into the troll booth
scholars burn their own candles
for instance a documentary on the dark ages
which has a scene eerily similar to another one
found in a documentary on slavery
with composition, lighting, colors that could be
identical twins raised in different countries
fascinating --
the documentaries
as intended
are forgotten
it's like searching for a dropped fly swatter
the question is
whose intention rules?
I am the swat team
burning the candle at both ends
think of the iridescent sheen
the marvelous colors of a fly's wing
think of the one that got away
to form its own band
leading others in a V-formation
audacious geese music
honking over trees down the horizon
to bless memories that made sense at the time
and still do without the burden of definitions
Rumpelstiltskin living in a tower
let down her golden hair
in braids
the green giant shinnied up
and they lived happily ever after
over a bowl of pea soup
ANTIMATTER
matter is statary energy
a yin yang market
black holes
where matter seems to disappear
are the ultimate waste disposal service
a parade of black pitted olives
reminiscent of sun dried volcanoes
tubas belching gas
passes in review
out of sight down an endless street
a floating dragon with piccolos
fire crackers perhaps
or a pelting drop of rain
heard vaguely as a child playing
suspended in a galaxy of cheese
black pitted olives
define white holes
where it all reappears
BLOWING LEAVES
“God has a bigger blower,” I said
scarcely concealing my irritation
when my customer years ago remarked
the futility of a windy day
regardless of anyone's belief
an invocation of some sort had seemed necessary
but surprisingly after that
the idea stuck around and became complicated
God – are you there?
Well then, the hell with you!
the absurdity of it becoming another complication
God never answered
it had seemed then, on reflection
that life is just one big test
I got a bigger blower
which brought some measure of success
but no real victory
I tried thinking my way out of it
God, no God, whatever the futility
clearly, I cannot control the wind
the admission being a moral victory
but a hollow one
being aligned with prevailing winds
our side yards here are natural wind tunnels
boosting the slightest breeze
for years mostly overpowered
the big blower sent leaves up
dropping down like fighter planes
raising dust as in the fog of war
then one summer day
when fewer leaves fall
the light blower seemed appropriate
and almost accidentally
out of one corner of my frustration
something always there finally registered
the breeze blows in gusts
during which an opposing force acts like a seawall
causing billows of leaves
the way through:
when the gust blows
pull back on the throttle
when it pauses
nudge the throttle
a constant intent going forward
through an inconstant breeze
gets the job done
FLAT BUSH CHARM
bring forth the batten song
call on Dumble Dorf to restore the holographic
quantum throng that tumbles the imagination
which has escaped beyond reason
hatching plots
not so much illegal as absurd
(here comes one now, its nose twitching slightly)
sir, this very morning when you brought the avocado
you were a normal squirrel, though somewhat eccentric
“I am, indeed.” he agreed
it was mistaken for a gift, I replied
“You presume too much. My gifts are for children.”
well then, what about the rose hip you brought
?
“Not for you.”
but you hopped off the fence with it
ran right up with a quizzical look
held it up like an offering
“I was hungry, and there you were.”
you are such a bushy tail flat minded squirrel!
remember when I planted your gift
if you don't mind
it seemed that way to me at the time
how did you know, and when, and why dig it up
?
“Telepathy.”
nonsense
how about those other times
you sitting in the hackberry tree
when we just watched each other
?
“Most humans are too busy.”
and when I discovered it near the garlic just planted
?
“We both have eyes.”
only to rediscover the following morning
after replanting it in the pot
that it was gone
?
“You are such a flat minded human.”
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The Gardener
Santa Clara, CA 95051
theroot_