The Gardener
Santa Clara, CA 95051
theroot_
HOLLY DAY CELEBRATION©
CENTURY 21
the hinge of reason
blooms in arid deserts
gathering no rust
rotund silence greets colandered rain
a lichened post emits beacons
our city mother and fathers begat stadium dreams
or perhaps brokered them
trying to hide a distended budget
spaghetti is a miracle
surviving traffic, also
for grander vistas begin with Ansel Adams
or perhaps Samuel Adams, depending
froth is bubbles
limp yellowed grass, once blonde in heat, talks among neighbors
bringing rumors
washer woman at the back door with persimmons
indefinable orange, a halt of nasal traffic
samurai
unspeakable slithy woe
translucent mucus forms a graceful web
breathing
found objects include a bright shiny screw on the road
with an Allen head
birds come to visit
squirrels drop by for a chat
when reason is unhinged
NO QUARTER
the castle of hungry ghosts
on a hilltop, ramparts and weapons, heralds and trumpets
became transparent
the exodus was silent, almost unnoticed
the memory a reconstructed missing persons report
found accidentally in soapy dishwater
surprising how, oh, that's how it was, aha!
suddenly clarifies
maybe nothing but a passing fly
without which California poppies are more riotous
and no one can hide from oneself forever
despite accumulations, acquaintances, parents, siblings, spouses and trusts
all the accoutrements of a sandstorm
neighbors to comment on the Weber BBQ
a day at work under squinty eyes
gone to confabulate with an automatic gate in the parking garage
to laugh
BEFORE LANDS GOT HOLY
MY FAMILY TREE LIVES IN A FINGERNAIL
now and then it gets clipped
just a practical consideration
driving to work for instance
is pruning dangers that whiz by unattended
leaving room for a reward of lucid moments
a Christmas tree lot, bright flapping circus pennants, parents and excited children, grey skies, darkening clouds, pine scent
a movable feast
from first fire to favorite restaurant
temporal minds cherish locality
then it moves to another city
going there does not ease the pain
not even pine scent
bedrock reality has fractured just enough
volcanoes, earthquakes, asteroids, musicians
generals with nuclear weapons
possibly overlaid with the next pandemic
Wall Street speculators, legal thieves, shadowy rulers concealed in the last disappearing paradise
fleas
the butterfly effect
these words did not appear overnight
there is no novel broad enough to imagine it
the terrain has disappeared
no plot
land, structures, flags or creed
all must be abandoned with courage facing death
oh my god!
yet not even that
no disrespect
when all is forgotten
tabla rasa reigns
the smell of rain persists
even the flocking of trees
and still nothing holy
PREMONITIONS
after all is said and forgotten
and lilacs bloom
if only in memory
absurdity is a bookmark
filigreed with buzzing bees
ah let's remember now, those golden days
built upon hopes of this future which
in every way
exceeds expectations
it is ordinary
like a neglected girlfriend who anyhow
won't go away
just raking leaves is enough
or washing dishes
quietly
how, without great fanfares, could just this
be enough
such questions are after the fact
pigs at the county fair
observations from an apartment on the twenty fifth floor
at night
with a glass of wine and a cityscape of twinkling lights
some leaves after drenching rain
will not yield to the rake
only waiting will do
some pigs do not want to be executed
a filigree of buzzing bees
absurdity, the great harbinger
yields to no one
THE HILL
just on the edge of it
in the midst of modernity
lives a word that cannot be spoken
in a forest clearing, blue sky, pin point forget-me-nots
a spatula holds court
berating Budweiser frogs, talking ducks, dancing cars
hello world, Mars, Jupiter, vector quantization
the singularity is near
earthquakes happen, yes, but we do have nuclear power
oh, yes, Fukishima
well
Persian rugs are not on the agenda
abstract outlines of a deep blue barn formed in a painter's lull
magnify the sun
a Polish hot dog at the Art & Wine Festival
shines through handcrafted jewelry
lapis lazuli
god's eyes on crossed sticks
roasted corn
walking through shadowed cameras
Geico sprites hand out diplomatic wavers
grease spurts from my Polish hot dog
the Persian rug in my office reverberates with joy
though I'm not there to sing with it
where it came from is before peacocks, mandalas, frogs
thoughts
decline to nest in a pawn brokers golden globes
autumn leaves are sunset bird songs
evening breeze, a taste of mint
the mirage consumes itself.
HOLLY HO
automobile plantations and cities that never stop
karma tracing points of light
market figurines appear
clanging bells
sleep is preferable
natural rhythm
though not as cost effective as kamikaze profits
on a carbon based afternoon
King Tide cities suffer plunder
polar air bursts thermometric records
citizens practice normality by TVcide
Yuletide
Worhol's vindication
talking heads wrapped in cinnamon balls
tree ornaments
the ice caps are falling off anyway
raking leaves is necessary on the day before
the end of the world
rolling dice on the next heartbeat
were it sanctioned
leaving them
would be unscrewing the world's navel
in fact such ruminations are too much
really what matters is getting every last leaf
ahead of torrential rains
which the heads have forecast calmly, cheerfully
clanging bells
cinnamon balls
deck the halls
kamikaze
spontaneous as an Art & Wine Festival
a Polish hot dog squirting grease
blue abstract barns
simmering lapis lazuli
figurines gesticulate wildly as the rake handle dips and curves
tracing a ballet of fallen shares
important ants have withdrawn to closed door caucus chambers
bare naked calculations
glistening rain a shimmer of solar radiations
my neighbor's frogs
difficult to estimate
not loud enough when expected
and nasturtiums are so intense
avatars
footsteps
never leaving the earth
as leaves scatter carelessly
on their own
INSIDE
THE GREAT OUTDOORS
WORDS ARE HUMMINGBIRDS
pollinators mind to mind
gathering nectar
sending hallucinatory flashes of prismal light
seen for an instant
they reverberate
then gone
come back, resplendent light!
but the show is over
when they have flown and a hunger remains
comes the question, how to fly
fly where?
the hunger is within
it is a do-it-yourself project
nothing to buy
all tools provided
and no assembly required
quietly, completely
it lands on its own
wings folded
waiting to be discovered
write "subscribe" or "unsubscribe" in the subject line of an email to: theroot_us@yahoo.com
The Gardener
Santa Clara, CA 95051
theroot_