The Gardener
Santa Clara, CA 95051
theroot_
REAL MUSIC©
COUNTRY GODS
god's country is smothered
hellish temperatures in the east bay
drought
further east her sisters bring floods, hail, tornadoes
warm nights mean melted cats
Hector emerges from the wilds of bird land
calling a meeting
Tabitha and Rosie scramble to the screen door
but they'll have to wait a bit
ABC News is reporting today's severe weather
will the power grid hold?
GM cars kill people
they are fined
their profits increase
why is that?
no one runs the country
or the economy
or democracy
but internet packet switching will survive nuclear war
who runs the computers or do they
have a logic of their own
are we disposable?
an evening cup of coffee
some music at the keyboard
maybe something new or not
it doesn't matter
notes die out and go their way
real music happens when least expected
IMPROMTU MUSE
the Brass Rail in Milpitas was greasy
good hamburgers and swill beer
sort of like the beer bars in Angles, Pampanga
why this comes to mind now
I don't know
as different from lives already worn
as they are from each other
I am a refugee
it's rather laughable
why pay attention to a shadow play?
Olly Olly Oxen Free!
(we didn't consult dictionaries then)
a forgotten customer takes the stage
but the props are gone
there is no wind machine
actors speaking to a different audience
with different meanings
an ex-wife or lover
a teacher with convincing theories
a psychic reader who actually
really
just needed her roses dis-budded
SERVITUDE
so it doesn't matter what you believe
flowers are the heart of the universe
from this it could become a paean to waterfalls
or a dirge of wars, pesticides and so on
either way, I'm not listening
but while trimming a hedge
the babble continues
the memory of an old girlfriend
shorn of former charms
as unattractive as I now am
the trimmer screams
it's a two-cycle engine, understand
how could such stray thoughts intrude?
mowing is pretty good, usually
except when the re-modelers at my Saratoga place want to leave
at 4:30
and my truck is last in line on the long driveway
they send an emissary
at 4:35 I'll be done
they'll have to wait, I reply
which pleases no one but
I'm not listening
WISTERIA
the tock of a grandfather clock
in the entry hall of a wealthy client
long pendulum mocking
a gardener waiting for payment
as simple words accrue silence
and no one speaks
appraising who seems to have the advantage
a story burnished in deep mahogany
subtle glints of glory
but there is no shifting, foot to foot
as it fades into mist
QUIT RENT
this pen
held between thumb, index and obscurity fingers
is the medium
I wait
cool evening air
poised in the passing system
barely moves
then morning incense
traversing some rule of motion
as breathing slows
stillness seems an end in itself
SHOES
right here in this ordinary world
is a way through what passes for reality
bicycles, ships and planes pass through
yet most passengers are unaware
bees and birds live by it
the kitchen is a good place for observation
so I clean the dishes and the driveway
how fortunate to do lawns where few people interfere
it might be called a blessing
but I shy from arguments
AMBER
great myths are billboards
hung outside the house of self
nonstop shows every day
follow the journey and get lost
in another illusion
wake up without it
the world is not somewhere else
only that myths no longer rule
riding a bike, plucking a weed
seeing a cup as just a cup
are events
that end when they do
which is to say
never
in the liquid amber tree
a pair of doves have made their home
she sits and he brings food
late afternoon as I pull in to park
a dove on the ground nearby
ambles with some curiosity to watch
and we make our greetings
in the morning a song from the light pole
and later in the day she sits peaceably
in the liquid amber tree
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The Gardener
Santa Clara, CA 95051
theroot_