The Gardener
Santa Clara, CA 95051
theroot_
BACH BOOGIE©
RIVERS
the new day begins with a yawn
a rusted pencil sharpener
edges become a filigree of tendrils
dust sparkles at dawn
let it settle down to dew
an anthill was fascinating
once
fireflies danced, but not on purpose
mathematics can dance
when forgotten
it's all just the beginning
FATE'S WHISPER
claw trimming time
Tabitha is glad for the attention
Rosie complains, but endures it
Susan is the goddess of clipping
settling in for an evening of dances with words
fleeting forms at eventide
lowering clouds condense into darkness
a distant aeroplane recalls its heritage
the sealed ark cannot gleam now
green bowers of Easter Island denied their glory days
and the gods of jurisprudence rap twenty seven gavels in unison
clap trap! I say
three young women have shared their tattoos with me
peeling back sharp edged images that would have burnt flesh
and I gently remove those clearly edged decals
having nothing to do with cats
silent eagles in majestic flight
not visible from too far above
carrying dreams and passions and sullen sunsets
dramatic denizens of pot holes on Benton Street
city politicians in conspicuously covert civilian robes
ties well tied
sashes tossed carelessly
it all seems like a dream
almost forgotten at morning's edge
all gardens of Eden have taken a Sabbatical
LISTEN AGAIN
leaves fall
rain falls
and leaves return to their origin
to nourish leaves
no one takes credit for this
nations fall and there are plenty of takers
depending on rain and leaves for nourishment
new roads are built
to become ruins
armies, volcanoes, the spread of ideas
tragic tales told
heroes buried
nourishment
the Change has been here before
sweeping all before it
two inches of snow in a southern state
clog freeways to a standstill
people abandon their cars
“we weren't warned”
but we are:
SNOW in Atlanta?
drought in California
about this time of year
as in years that plumb depths of memory
cherry trees sprout blossoms
blue hills in mist
Blossom Hill Road looks out over a valley of irrigation
MAGIC MOMENTS
while waiting for the light to change
no use honking
there will be no tiger attack
outraged elephants and buffaloes are silenced
flick a switch
or something
the left hand turn lane is buffeted with sonic booms
from hurtling cars a few feet to the right
laws, rules are blessings of civilization
or the bane of it?
where does civilization park?
who granted the permit?
does “it” know “me”?
given enough traffic, there is a period of silence . . .
the four wheeled office has morphed into a monastery
traffic cameras see nothing
then the little arrow goes green
nothing happens as “I” turn left
literary sensibilities might dictate this is the end of a well rounded story
but it spills over
climate change, corrupt politicians, nuclear submarines, corporate zombies
as spiders wither in their webs
humans crush each other in the illusion of worldly space
forgotten
in the left hand turn lane
SAINT TABITHA
magic is anywhere
any moment
gravel, crows on a light pole
a city council meeting
anyplace where suddenly it is remembered
place and the moment are gone
time is laughable
right here in our front yard birds are laughing
in the morning
when the sun shines on Saint Francis in the back yard
Tabitha is there
her magic moment
she scratches and shits
and the Saint
though just a statue
smiles
write "subscribe" or "unsubscribe" in the subject line of an email to: theroot_us@yahoo.com
The Gardener
Santa Clara, CA 95051
theroot_