Poetry Garden

 

I made a poetry garden

To plan for poems to say

For there is so much to give

And calling old friends to play

Went hard cultivating poets

From back in the old days

When five flowers was all we had

But it didn’t matter much – it’s okay

There was an old paladin poet

Sitting at the gate in full cogitate

The mood was easy - no need for strain

If it’s open to just ruminate

I saw a rose by any other name

Sitting by herself showing stems with thorns

For beauty is only to see; it’s all just the same

Yellow, pink or red dress she adorns

Then came the old dog slammer

Friend of the old woods 

No one knew their hammer

Nor could we see they were user dudes

Their songs went fast and rhythmic

As the poetry party rose to a wayward lee

And love poems flowed into the garden

When the yellow tulips all stood to see

There was trouble in the garden party

For there came dandelions no one knew

They soon elaborated beyond meaning

And caused the place much ado

Oh me, oh my! – it’s just a poetry garden

It don’t matter much who is Queen

And there is no king flower

Bees and butterflies is the scene

Went to a garden party

Seeing who was there

And found only winter’s hand

Had taken its cold stare

And so, we play in the garden

Once again - once more

Poets come and lovers go

And the old poet is still lore.

(tribute to Ricky Nelson/Garden Party)

Calling Waters

The ease of flow in the waters -

Currents moving - cascading - falling;

Gently puddling, forming, gathering -

Hasten the beaconing waters: go beyond the edge.

Eddies where inertia swirls and turns into brooks

Streaming into rampaging rivers resounding

Beyond majesties and behemoths standing

Tall along the canyons and gorges.   

Skies that transform from delightful blue

Clear and clean while the air is sick and thickening.

Grays skies began boiling into a rage - threatening

While the future awaits in a distant queue.

Thunderbolts launch - slamming the heavy air!

Everyone with dreams of immortality praying

For emancipation from death’s calling…

The consuming quietness, a portent of destruction.

The winds of change take aim in full rage

Their intentions and power are demanding

Full annihilation of all life standing.

Long hours huddled inside a hole that is a soul.

A peaceful silence awakens the new dawn

As daylight’s gentle light is redeeming.

A full sunrise begins with blue birds singing:

Alive! – we are alive to rebuild a new world. 

The ease of flow in the waters rises

While the currents cascade into the falling.

Gentle forms gather at their puddling

Hastened by the beaconing waters: Seek the edge.

  

Wonder of a Mystery in Uniformity

 

Bring me that broken chalice

Along with your harbored malice

On this one day for foils and fools -

This noted first day for charm

And trickery and foolery sans harm.

What story, what mockery, which lore

Could be more incredible than this war

Of nonsense and ridiculous caveats

Wrapped in misinformation; tied with red ribbons

And sold by the fox of misgivings. 

So, tease away all that you see

Strip clean all values and sell them for a fee.

Put on your best brown uniform

Along with the black boots of repression.

Learn to salute with that vile arm extension. 

 

Become a true wonder of a mystery in uniformity

Bend and twist your self-worth into conformity! 

I’ll stand here between chaos and cohesiveness –

And resist the oceans and conquer the mountains

Not in silence but in harmony with freedom’s fountains.