Mr. Robins
Takes a bath
He’s not concerned with math
Except perhaps
To count their eggs
Or later how many mouths they’ve fed
But today he’s just getting clean
A deep splash
And shake
Sending water splattering
He takes this
“Bird bath”
Seriously
He pays no mind to you and me.
…
Not until the dog comes out
Does Mr. Robins
Give a shout
No, now that he
Is clean all through
Fly to the nest’s
Alls left to do.
The geraniums
I brought in to
Stave off frosted night
Red and white
Fireworks
Bursting in the morning light
Turning the dirt
With Great-Grand-Daddy’s plow
Sharecropper’s till
Real familiar somehow
Making quick work
Of my little garden plot
He’d make an acre
Into food they never bought
Traded with the Osage
When he had a good crop
But it never really seems
Like my efforts pay out full
Maybe this year’s different
Using my ancestral tool
Yearning
Clamshells
Open slow
With a
Lazy
Yawning
Frond
Unwound
Reaching
Tendrils
Unfurled
Revealing
Future
Colors
Of long
Summer’s Day.
“We want to be
More than the tree.
A melody
For you
We sing and sing
Always hoping
Your Love to ring
As true…
Please, please sing back!
Tell where you’re at —
Let our song
Be for two.”
Lockdown
Quarantine
“Keep the door shut.”
Practice
“Social distancing”
Do not touch!
Wash your
Hands for
Twenty seconds
Swab and
Daub and Wipe
down surfaces!
Don’t forget
Don’t touch
Your Faces!
Though we
Won’t need
No toilet paper
For one
Or two
Weeks more
It doesn’t
really matter
‘Cause there’s none left
At
The
Store
A bird
A bird
A bird has rhythm
Listen
Listen
Listen closely — To hear
If you
If you
Listen closely
A whole
New Lang-
uage will appear
Repeat
Repeat
The melody
The beat
The beat
Is very clear
The words
The words
These Words may not matter
The music
The music
Is more than a mirror
She was
A sweet
A sweet blue bird
Named “Happy”
She would even
let you hold her
Her Eggs
Were aquamarine
With golden yolks
American
Ameraucana
“The Easter Egger”
Though she
Stopped producing
Early in life
She was
Well regarded
By the Garden Club.
RIP
Tic tic
Says the clock
As it counts off your day
“Where
have you been?” He says,
“Happy has passed away…”
Dirty work
This garden farm
On any good day, not much harm
‘Cept for
The mice
Who’ve come to barn
But today
You know —
Was different too
It was
The day…
That Happy died—
These heavy feet
Burdened by ghosts
Of my grandfathers
Reminding history
Like wispy shackles
Dragging stowaways
On my ankles
Through my forest trek.
As walking in
Their steps of old
Ice cold conditions
Better gear for me
But me and my
Cold feet must carry
The miles of quiet.
My youngest son
Reminds me that
The 10 miles I
Journeyed were but
One day of 10
Miles for months
For the souls
Who took upon
The Oregon Trail.
I’ll keep my Coffee
Hot and my
Thoughts pastoral
And I will sleep
On my memory-foam
Mattress!