Spring means graduations, flowers, yardwork: POEMS

                       Grandson in a crape myrtle years ago, graduated from high school last week.

a passing truck

painted like a zebra

--this quirky town

(Eureka Springs, '15) 

~ ~ ~ ~

                                                          Coreopsis and purple jew

QUATRAIN

Did Mama ever pray

when her children drove away 

"Dear Lord, they're yours now,

please keep them in your way."?

(April '11)

~ ~ ~ ~

                                                    Another grandson many years ago

the only thing

you will leave 

is what you create

(Tom Padgett on Wallace Stevens. Lucidity retreat, 2004)

~ ~ ~ ~

                       Older son with granddaughter who graduated from high school last week.

CINQUAIN

After

yesterday's wind

and rain, today's roadside

fields of mustard brighten the gray

landscape.

(Hwy 35 to Tull, April '19)

~ ~ ~ ~

                                                                  Google image.

THREE DAYS' PAPERS UNREAD

Resting

from yesterday's

frustrations, noggin-bump,

kin's graduation and a long

trip home.

(5. 17. '19)

~ ~ ~ ~

c 2019 PL, dba lovepat press, Benton AR USA

A 6th mission trip and the poems they inspired

                                                    A collection of UMCOR shirts

gazebo

facing the bayou

--secrets

PL, 5.10.'19 in Baldwin, Louisiana

on a mission trip to UMCOR

~ ~ ~ ~

sugar cane

a foot high

oddly-layered clouds

PL, 2013 trip

~ ~ ~ ~

spikes on his hubcaps

must mean

"Keep your distance"

PL, 2013 trip

~ ~ ~ ~

we drive under

the helicopter

different directions

PL, 2013 trip

~ ~ ~ ~

the yellow one

in the long row of houses

--school on spring break

PL, 2013 trip

~ ~ ~ ~

                            Inside the UMCOR Depot: bolts of cloth for eventual school bags

Geretta unpacking toothpaste for health kids, UMCOR Depot, Baldwin, Louisiana, 2013

c 2019, PL dba lovepat press, Benton AR USA

Spring: rain, birds --poems

Watching

the cardinal

casing the area

around the suet feeder. He

flies in.

~ ~ ~ ~

After

the ramp's laid,

I widen the flower

bed to include adjacent lawn,

dig grass.

~ ~ ~ ~

the old woman

wearing socks

with sandals

~ ~ ~ 

rain from the roofline

escaping

into the cellar

~ ~ ~ ~

Easter Monday

both our mailbox flags

are up

~ ~ ~ ~

a silent rain

droplets in the birdbath

the only clue

~ ~ ~ ~

                                                                   photo-C. Hoggard

untended

the leggy but leafing

hydrangea

~ ~ ~ ~

c 2019, PL dba lovepat press, Benton AR USA

Variations of late winter--poems

peeper croaking

from a woods-edge pool

violets

~ ~ ~ ~

on the way back--

picking the violets

I passed before

~ ~ ~ ~

cop stroking kitten

rescued at crack house razing

rain clouds

~ ~ ~ ~

afghaning my legs

rather than closing the door

thunderstorm

~ ~ ~ ~

sitting on the porch

the light rain, and  the journal

pages get more limp

~ ~ ~ ~

daffodiligententertainer

~ ~ ~ ~

c 2019, PL dba lovepat press, Benton AR USA

blogging with poems about or during February

Ten years ago this month, I began two blogs--one for poetry; one for prose.


after severe cold
48 degrees invite
bare-armed school children
~  ~ ~

two delicious hours
in front of the gas-log fire
reading the paper
~ ~ ~

sparrow
testing the ice
in the birdbath
~ ~ ~

re-dating my letter
begun just before midnight
~ ~ ~

oh, wow!
the sweetness of the apple
from the sale carousel
~ ~ ~

as early as
Groundhog fay, a chorus
of spring peepers
~ ~ ~

c 2019, PL dba lovepat press, Benton AR USA

Winter poems, photos

                                           Annamarie Parker photo


Pointillism

One petunia bloom, two pansies,
three demure oxalis, many holly,
California Moon Vine
berries, early jonquils inside
(forced) and blooming in the yard––points
delightful during winter’s gloom.
Add redbirds, robins, thrashers, jays.
Now all our palette needs is snow.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

A Winter Mélange

        

         On Epiphany,

         the aroma

         of roasting turkey—

         bought for Christmas

         but not needed—delights

         with homey fragrance,

                                                              and the first snowfall soothes

         with white stillness.

         Large windchimes

         play what sounds like

         the opening notes

         of “We Three Kings.”

         It’s possible.

         On Christmas,

         I heard them play the “Silent

         Night” motif.

         I eat ice cream and fruitcake

         in front of the fire.

         The cat sidles up for a rub.

         His fur, like a warm blanket,

         reminds me that winter

         doesn’t last forever.

ON THE DAY AFTER CHRISTMAS – a parody

On the day after Christmas in twenty-sixteen,

in summer-like weather like we’ve never seen,

I sit on the porch swing with wassail to drink

and hope that this pen doesn’t run out of ink

before I can transcribe this writing that’s new.

(If so, there’re others—some black and some blue.)

The leftover food now resides in my fridge.

(When some folks have none, it’s a great sacrilege.)

But guests wouldn’t think of transporting it home.

“Just compost it!” one said. “It’ll end up as loam.”

But I wasn’t ready to do that just yet;

perhaps friends will drop by, or neighbors, unmet.

Two bottles of eggnog for seasonal use

unopened for two feasts—what can I deduce?

The wind’s getting cranky--it may drive me in—

and dark clouds are scudding—are storms to begin?

The ‘climate-change’ pooh-poohers make an excuse:

“Anomaly,” they say, “This change is a ruse.”

While scientists measure the overall change

proclaim, “Yes, indeed, but it’s within range.”

(Digression’s my forte—let’s get to the point

of this parody, memoir; it’s time to anoint

today’s poem’s center, its action, its meat,

its meaning, emotional crux, and its heat.)

This summer-like weather--anomaly, yes--

will be soon forgotten in winter’s duress.

But lo! even winter can’t outlast the sun

and the tilt of the earth. Before long, winter’s done.

Soon, springtime has sprung; summer’s in on a wing.

When temps rise to sixty, I’ll be back on the swing.

 

                           Couchwood in an earlier year

c 2019, PL, dba lovepat press, Benton AR USA

Making the best of the new year-- poems

NEW YEAR'S DAY POEMS OF THE PAST

New Year's morning
quiet after the light snow
except for the creek
(1997)

January first
each dated tree ornament
a year older
(2003)

replacing
old calendar with new
full of things to do
(2004)

New Year's project:
finding the stuff I stashed away
before Christmas
(2006)

23 degrees
first day of the year, I read
Season's spring haiku
(Carolyn Thomas)
(2008)

new holiday towels
wisps of clean gray hair now red
in the shower drain
 (2009)

new woodsy backyard
enjoying the birdfeeder
and binoculars
(2013)

first day of new year
two inches of snow
and no birds
(2017)

again, New Year's Day
reading all eight of earlier
haiku booklets
(2019)

c 2019, PL dba lovepat press, Benton AR USA