Wednesday, August 26, 2009

Before August 09 is history, some more poems

8.2 - Cinquain & a third

A flock
of noisy geese
fly northward to the pond
just out of sight. One trumpets--in

or else
is insisting
on its own way.
8.5 Haiku

a summer lunch
seed-freckled tomato juice
in the saucer

8.10 Senryu

the library
now into speed dating

8.15 Haiku

first faint purple
of beautyberries
Ides of August

8.17 Haiku

mid-August...just now
seeing a Christmas bauble
in the Norfolk pine

8.20 Haiku

rain slackens
and roosters quiet down
then a dove calls
c lovepatpress 2009

Tuesday, August 18, 2009

Thunderstorm in progress - a cinquain sequence

At seven-thirty on a summer evening

I sit
out on the porch
under the light to hear
the rain. When I look up again,
it's dark.

The wind
chime clangs. Thunder
shifts north and a power
outage darkens the porch for one

Where is
the lightning bug
that flew in from the rain?
Hopefully hidden in fronds of
a fern.

c lovepatpress 8.18.09

Saturday, August 15, 2009

Elegy and Eulogy for a dog that died in our yard

I didn't realize that you'd been killed --
and in my yard, no less,--until the man
who volunteered to mow the lawn in trade
"for any small donation to our church
youth fund," came to the door and said, "I got
it done to edge of yard, then came upon
this yellow lab a'layin' there. I lost
my lunch; I'm goin' home." The young man jerked
his thumb toward edge of yard beyond the pole
(electric pole). I handed him a check
made out to Baptist church where he led youth,
then followed where he gestured. Sure enough,
a full-grown dog lay dead between the road
and grove of sassafras that lines the edge
of our northeastern acre. What to do?

The owner surely'd combed the roadsides, called
his pet by name ("Here, Stella! Biggun! Boy!");
or whistled even. Nothing ... Buzzards? ... No.

And three days passed. By now, the beast began
to smell; the odor unmistakable,
of death. The stench was overpowering.
I had to figure something out. That box
of baking soda -- would it help? I held
my breath and dumped it on the carcass. For
a while it worked, and I could water plants,
weed eat and gather fallen branches. Soon,
the smell returned. This time, I bought some lime
(some pickling lime --would that work just as well?)
and emptied it upon the rotting flesh
that melted under maggot mandibles.

The grass grew higher, hid the animal
from passing traffic. County-road men had
no leave to move it since it wasn't on
the road(!). Today, it's lying still (two ways
of looking at that phrase). More soda's bought
and waiting ... Waiting ... Lessons to be learned?

If there's a next time, push the dog into
the street and call the road department.
c -patlaster 09

Sunday, August 9, 2009

A few new, short poems for August

With Dad's
old tools, I wrest
squeaky nails, rusty screws
that held massive rods for ancient

On Seeing a U-Haul Trailer in the Funeral Home Parking Lot
her final service
son's U-Haul packed with her things
ready to take off

opening the screen
both the cat
and the fly exit

thunderstorm brews
early morning looking
like late evening

ice cream social
rained out yet again