The Pomegranate― Wears thorns
on Her branches―
We don't hear Her sigh.
She offers her red fruits― To one and All―
To birds, ants, girls,
To gardeners on the spy.
Holding forth in the bright
A dense shrub, thin leafed―
Covering the path
Pruned back monthly
But ever relentless.
We― complaining daily― too hot,
Seldom satisfied, fussing famously―
Split open a ripe red Pomegranate
Admire the scores of fleshy red seeds
Suck down the succulent juices
Till our tongues are stained with shame.
[Inspired by Emily Dickinson, #554]
The Past is the Key
I saw Master Chang San-feng
Enter the Sidhe, Fairies by his side,
Crossing over the pond at dawn.
Astonished I was!
On the teahouse table by the pond I later found
Some of his neatly printed notes
Folded in a well worn tome
Of the Tao Te Ching, in Chapter 14.
[Inspired by the Tao Te Ching, Chapter 14]
Yellow Patty-Pans in the Pure Sunshine
Hardly thinking, mind still,
Strolling out into the garden;
Awakening in the dawn glow,
Summer sun rising over the cloudless Cascades.
Deep green fat squash leaves,
Worry free, covering the damp clay soil.
My hands search the straw mulch for
Spaghetti squash, patty pans, crook necks,
zucchini, pumpkins, cantaloupes, cucumbers, gourds …
All fattening on water, sun, and soil.
I touch the vines and smile, grasping
Worry free, pleased just to be
Me, the sum of things, I am That,
Living and dead, endless vines of beings,
A billion bees sucking a trillion flowers,
In the Valley Spirit of a million summers.
Past and Present merge Now,
As I fill to the brim with twining thoughts,
Fattening on ideas, memories, fantasies, images, reflections,
A pumpkin mind, full of invisible mind seeds,
A growing matrix of wonderful words.
As it should be.
[Inspired by Robinson Jeffers, “The Return.”]
Get a Grip
Sitting, reading, resting
recovering from leg surgery
Waiting and wondering, day by day,
about what will happen
Not being young anymore
it's easier for Death to knock on my door
As I slide downhill, can't stop,
careening from mini-crisis to mini-crisis
Limping like an old man
that I now am
Diabetes gobbling up my core
feet buzzing and legs sore.
Damn! Stop feeling sorry for
Get up, stand up, move, get a grip, don't be a wimp.
Smile, put up a fight no matter what ain't right.
Will Soon Become Me
These grapes, these tomatoes
Will all soon become me.
Such a tasty fact.
I am That and That is Me.
Bless the garden!
Bless the kitchen!
I was thinking about "the Absolute"
(whatever that is)
yesterday. (Philosophers enjoy
the rush of mental masochism:
bondage to leathery ideas,
painful flagellation with cutting words,
the humiliation of utter confusion.)
Absolute Zero - Death!
Clearly, a deep shivering Super-Conducting
The Past: a second ago, a century ago...
Dead Time - absolutely kaputt!
dappled shadows on dropped leaves
holes in the tree's crown all brown
little pecans scattered on the ground
cold west winds from the sea blow round;
forlorn garden Gnomes' draped in dust
misaligned old garden gate hinges rust
rotting prune plums perfume the dusk
another day disappears as it must;
Pulling Onions Again
Mother Nature is always pregnant.
Time creeps, walks, runs and flies - it is all about moving things.
Chaos breaks its own rules to allow Order to play.
Dogmatists are less useful than dogs.
Take life with a grain of salt, and a icy margarita.
The best things in life are more expensive than you think.
Rather than "love mankind," I'd rather admire a few good people.
Some flourish when crowded together, others don't.
Garbage In, Compost Out.
It is more about You and Now, rather than Them and Back Then.
Hunting for tomato worms- no mercy.
A pocket knife will be its dullest at just the right time.
While gardening the borders between work and play become blurred.
When gardening, look up more often.
Just the right words can be worth more than a thousand pictures.
A flower needs roots; beauty a society of minds.
A callused palm and dirty fingernails precede a Green Thumb.
A working hypothesis is far better than a belief.
Only two percent of all insects are harmful. Why are they all in my garden.
Most laws of Gardening are merely local ordinances.
Failures, disorder and death are the Grim Reaper of Entropy at work.
Somehow, someway, everything gets eaten up, someday.
The meaning is lost in the saying - a nature mystic's dilemma.
Vigorous gardening might help more than a psychiatrist's couch.
A wise gardener knows when to stop.
Gardens are demanding pets.
Gardening is but one battle against Chaos.
When life gives you onions, you ain't making lemonade.
Autumn Yellow, the mirror image of Spring Green.
What you see depends on when you look.
Beauty is the Mistress, the gardener her slave.
A little of this and a little of that, and some exceptions - these are the facts.
Onions by Mike Garofalo (730 One Line Quips)
Green Way Research, 2011, Red Bluff,
All Rights Reserved