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