The Gardener
Santa Clara, CA 95051
theroot_
VAGUELY IMAGINED PEACOCKS©
SALAD DAYS
there persists a hidden order
though not secret
that informs everyday events
if you like conspiracy theories this is not the place
there are no meetings
hopping on our driveway in their enthusiasm
a flock of twitter bits
LIBERATION
I like getting out early on heat wave days
too much sweating is not good for an old guy
using kitchen scissors I liberate the cantaloupe
which gives its life in delicate fragrance
marmalade to be honest
is a chaotic attractor, consider the honey bees
writers in ancient book stacks struggling to be free
towering book stacks, piffled in blue haze
glimpsed through windows without end
a parade of vintage cars wending through fields of vaguely imagined
peacocks
people cheering, leaning out over sashes from above
pigeons playing soccer
a tomato fight
on green radar screens
the world is waiting for a sunrise that is missing
since the music has stopped, all by itself
since no one is in charge
so it is a wonderful world
even though few notice
summer heat powers itself
so far there is water from the hose
helicopters chunking overhead
sirens and dirt hauling trucks
the Sunday blaring ice cream truck an atavism
neighbors discussing something important
FAVORITISM
weather in god's country is relatively benign
heat waves, drought, freak flooding rains and wind storms
fire taking out the Hetch Hetchy watershed
if anyone thinks that's all, well
last evening on CNN:
off the coast of Mexico, another hurricane
in Australia, numerous fires and dry wind threaten to combine
into one uncontrollable megafire, dwarfing Hetch Hetchy
in China, smog like London's pea soup disaster
the air is not moving
schools closed, traffic accidents because stop lights can't be seen
in the middle of America, an incursion of cold air from the north
temperatures 10 to 15 degrees below normal
rain or not, the pattern is clear
until it's as unmistakable as a baby's diaper that needs changing
Santa Clara will be sleepy hollow
the change will begin with an observation
that we are not gods
then how will we get along
in a world not particularly favored
by any god?
MENTORS
to be a human is rather abstract
clouds ahead of rain
birds and street sweepers
time honored sediments swallowed by scanners
images stored as though they were jungle masks
products of mythology
grave sentiments magnified by movers and shakers
rolling the dice for a better future
in a time capsule yet undiscovered
to the embarrassment of city parents
playing roles on the world stage
in front of blinking cameras
wishing the real action might never be seen
being human is not the same as being civilized
a realization banned from the beds of pansies kept for city parks
and lawns of realtors
for whose better future?
play an accordion
go to jail
a sequence of events depends upon the illusion of time
first the pansies
then jail
except who owns the realtors?
banks own them
promising a more profitable return
hope springs until the springs become radioactive
or: scale back to Silent Spring
or to Bach
or reaching way back
there is a faith in eternal spring
often confused with continuous change
which is less directional
or in fact with complete silence
try it
it becomes you
CROW FEST
BART riders jostle
twitter bits hopping
the day hardly has begun
ads pound my TV
politicians pound the streets
big trucks rumble to and from with delights and necessities
delivered door to door
realtors hand deliver announcements of unbelievable sales
my checking account is free
it is a chuckle
now that berries are ripe on the hack berry tree
crows come to visit
at twilight
the magic time
instead of TV I come outside
to sit with them
sky darkening to red
finally the evening breeze
as the flock populates our meeting place
as berries clink on the metal table
leaves fluttering down
and gradually the raucous calls to assembly
fade back into family crow talk
right overhead as I watch
and am watched
such a big family
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The Gardener
Santa Clara, CA 95051
theroot_