GREEN TEA DAY©

TRUMPET VINES

O'er the ramparts flying

and such

come poets tumbling

rhymes in hand, drums beating

while I

unhumbled

listen to no one

what do I know?

well, nothing

in spite of that, or perhaps because of that

words bubble up

not things, actually, not known

these very words

so unbeautiful

but were I ashamed, it would betray a lack of gratitude

the very things no one can say

not hidden in birds or sunsets

or my rusting truck

who would try

except a fool

oh, every once in awhile there may be a rhyme or two

not quite by accident

given the structure of language

but let's not push it

a rusted truck?

you would have to ride in it

have to hear its creaks and rattles

its engine pulling loads over fifty years

not to call it music

or how about when our cats purr

anyone's cats

the sound of your children

on a good day, of course

or anyone's children playing

you would have to work next door to a school yard

or planes flying overhead

I like to hear a single engine plane

following its drone

gradually disappearing

leaving birds again

and then

pretty far off

a high school football marching band

trumpets, trombones and certainly

drums

but not just a military street beat

tuned drums playing a conga

it sure beats tumbling

probably a pun

WHEN DAY IS DONE

all the usual gardener things have a place in the closet

they sleep in there at night

getting all snuggled in before the door shuts and the pen comes out

words flow, rafting over the day's events

leaves bundled up, the casual wave of a neighbor

until finally it comes to what cannot be clothed

and then, obediently

moves on to sketch in colors beyond dreams

way up on the top shelf, out of reach

just as in other closets

where eventually all clothes go to sleep

the shelf goes beyond walls

way up where stuff is going on

it has no limits

and the clothes are stuck on hangers

laughter on wings

will visit while clothes are sleeping

soon we will sleep

we will meet

almost as we did on that sunny day

RAINBOWS AGAIN

AS THE SUN GOES INTO HIDING

the hearth crackles to life

or not

if it's a Spare the Air Day

for city drones without extravagant means

apartment dwellers

seasonless lives

the Pineapple Express might inundate everything

or perhaps a drought will follow

too much northern wind

summertime

a full moon evening at Full Circle Farm

the Festival Theatre Ensemble presents Macbeth

rebirth of The Bard

swaddled in quilts

to warm shivering knees visited with climate change

the grand procession yields

three witches

the cycle lives on

bringing holidays and celebrations

a dark age blinded by brilliant lights

civilization

humanity's crowning achievement

is surpassing itself

hiding that which is without limits or definition

beyond darkness and illumination

a raindrop

several octaves up and beyond hearing

is gathering a fortune

that needs no crown

THE MOMENT

sculpture is removing what does not belong

until the truth remains

science is sculpture

the chisel reason

is that all we need to know?

there is joy in beauty

this is known

reason is dispassionate

the impetus is curiosity

the reward discovery

who knows the reason for this

so

beyond reason

lies the great unknown

out of which what is known arises

scientists, gaucho riders, scribblers, graffiti taggers,

whistlers in the street, bureaucrats with spreadsheets

artists all

and perhaps gum chewers

yet at the extremities it falls short

gloves, socks, beaver skin hats

-- temporary measures --

no matter how much knowledge

is worn

the quest remains

scripture is no better than sculpture

claims of truth do not satisfy the last gasp of breath

beauty, after all, must be reincarnated

fruit flies in their afternoon cascades

are good examples

maggots will not produce it

the great, nagging California poppy

is rain that falls when it will

weeds that grow in highway meridians, no matter what

and wars that happen according to plans revealed after the fact

probably as true as the best scientific theory

boldly marked:  VALID UNTIL DISPROVEN

on the other hand, if there is another

(remember that one hand clapping thing?)

why not disassemble your car

mentally of course

to see how it ticks, sputters, hums, whatever

until the truth of it is scattered all over the street

along with poppies, fruit flies, maggots and

the recycle bin

it becomes a found sculpture

ping!