Cuttings - June

Haiku, Concrete and Short Poems

 

By Mike Garofalo 
Red Bluff, Tehama County, Northern California

 

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cool night
watering the orchard
in the moonlight

 

 

new moon
my flashlight
cuts a path

 

 

Last day of Spring
ripe purple plums drop
form is emptiness.

First day of Summer
ditch completely dry
emptiness is form.   

 

 

June snowflakes:
    cottonwood fluff
    floating on the breeze.

 

 

midnight moon
    three mares
    traced by shadows  

 

 

Weeds turn yellow as the days grow long;
we move the sprinkler on the lawn.

 

 

covered with ants
dead lizard
disappearing ......... bit by bit 

 

 

Spotted dog
lusting to kill a lamb
shot dead.

 

 

Broken pencil
anyway,
I'm short on words.  

 

 

Eastern sun
between Cascades and clouds
glowing red hollyhocks.  

 

 

Cherries and berries
ripening fast
her sweet lips are red. 

 

 

Loose mind
jumping out of its skin
a rattlesnake.  

 

 

Nimble fingers picking
fistfuls of cherries
spitting pits.  

 

 

Graduation Day
pat on my son's back
cameras flash.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Coming, here, gone:
Flowers in the Sky.                                                        
In the blink of one false eye,
In the blink of One True Eye,             
flowers in the empty sky;
Shimmering, scented ... gone,
Gone, gone, gone far beyond              
Their seeds of arising.
But, staying, Here-Now,
A Great Marvel of Manifestation.         
Bodhisvattas - for the bees. 
-    Emptiness in Full Bloom

 

 

Gardens for the eyes,
gardening for the hands
a flashlight in the dark. 

 

 

Early morning
purple clouds
flies on my pants.  

 

 

 

Candle Bright

                                    ['crete'oems:mpg]

 

 

 

 

Swat!  Swat!
more flies fall ...
her aim is true.

 

 

No flowers, no bees;
No bees, no flowers.
Blooming and buzzing,
Buzzing and blooming;
Married and still in Love.

 

 

Crazy Cloud Ikkyu
skin on a skeleton
listening to the dead.

 

 

My son's old friend, tall and tan,
a different person, now a man.

 

 

I dreamt I died.
Followed by

 

 

Green plums
bend their branches,
bowing to Pomona.

 

 

Sharing the wind-streams
cattails and cottonwoods
casting cottony seeds.

 

 

Removing cattails
till the pond is clear
six empty bird nests.

 

 

June: Quotes, Poems, Lore

 

 

Frogs leaping
far into the pond,
ahead of a snake.

 

 

Late rain
softening dry ground
drips off my nose.

 

 

White sun
behind a black cloud
moon flowers curling up.

 

 

Walking the fence line, eyes downcast;
humming a rock tune, smiling at last.

 

 

Raccoon up the willow,
dog nearby
both tensed: eye to eye.

 

 

If you have a hoe, She will give you another.
If you don't have a hoe, She will take it away.

 

 

Magpies hop and squawk to start our day,
begging for dog food in the feeder tray.

 

 

As night turns to day
mountains appear ...
I stretch and yawn.

 

 

Full opal moon
rises above Lassen forest
laughter around campfires.

 

 

Concrete Poetry

 

 

The smell of wet clay on a warm Spring day;
in a shaded orchard, sprinklers tick and spray.

 

 

Prop plane
roaring as it turns
everyone looks up.

 

 

Last day of school
drags on and on
cheering at the final bell.

Carefully
locking library doors
treasures in a safe.

Memories of a teacher
dead for decades
refreshed in a dream.

 

 

Squirming,
uncomfortable with the truth
liars listen.

 

 

Good weather all the week, but come the weekend the weather stinks. 
Springtime for birth, Summertime for growth; and all Seasons for dying.
Ripening grapes in the summer sun - reason enough to plod ahead. 
Springtime flows in our veins.  
Beauty is the Mistress, the gardener Her salve. 
A soul is colored Spring green.  
Complexity is closer to the truth. 
All metaphors aside - only living beings rise up in the Springtime; dead beings stay quite lie down dead. 
Winter does not turn into Summer; ash does not turn into firewood - on the chopping block of time. 
Fresh fruit from the tree - sweet summertime! 
Gardens are demanding pets. 
Shade was the first shelter. 
When the Divine knocks, don't send a prophet to the door. 
One spring and one summer to know life's hope; one autumn and one winter to know life's fate. 
Somehow, someway, everything gets eaten up, someday. 
Relax and be still around the bees. 
Paradise and shade are close relatives on a summer day. 
Absolutes squirm beneath realities. 
The spiders, grasshoppers, mantis, and moth larva are all back:  the summer crowd has returned!
To garden is to open your heart to the sky.
Dirty fingernails and a calloused palm precede a Green Thumb.
Time will tell, but we often fail to listen.  
Seeing with one eye and feeling with the other does help bring things into focus.  
Round things are very nice - fruit, women, the earth.   
Gardening is a passion to continue, despite failure and uncertainty.  
The empty garden is already full.  
Gardeners learn to live in worm time, bee time, and seed time.
Pulling Onions, by Michael P. Garofalo   

 

 

a crying
daughter
makes a midnight call
love is awkward.

 

 

Cutting down
a dry dead tree:
pull to cut, pull to cut, pull to cut .....

 

 

Laker Championships
won and lost
in the squeaking of seconds.  

 

 

Long-legged whore
shadowed by streetlights
shiny boots. 

 

 

Sitting still
in deep shade
my dog licks my sweaty arm.

 

 

Since daybreak,
hoeing and mowing ...
siesta time.

 

 

After reaching for the needle at the bottom of the sea,
I looked up, one summer's eve,
to see old Chang San-Feng open the garden gate,
and join me for Tai Chi.

We said not a word -
hands moving like clouds,
fingers grasping sparrow's tails,
faces smiling, feeling the sun drop,
glimpsing a half moon climbing the clear sky.

Time flowed without a ripple of memories,
Space embraced a crane cooling its wings,
Being began to sing
softly in tune with the moon.

My dusty black dog barked,
sensing something on the warm wind;
speaking her mind,
ears up.

Master Chang was gone.
Leaving one shoe on a beanpole, and
a page of poems -
mementos for mortals.  

Two black butterflies
danced wing to wing
in love.
Master Zhang San-Feng

 

 

After the long wait ...
twisted wreckage,
glancing at death.

 

 

North Valley Heat
attacked!
Spring died.

 

 

 

Boxed In, Concrete Poem by Michael P. Garofalo.

                                    ['crete'oems:mpg]

 

 

 

Bouncing on the tractor as the day moves to dusk;
Mulching up dry weeds, trailed by dust.

 

 

Huge white oleanders
hide tiny black flies ...
Yang solstice.

 

 

Crack!
kitchen faucet breaks
priorities change.  

 

 

Vociferous killdeers
limp away
eggs on gravel. 

 

 

 

Quang Duc poured the gasoline
Over his head till it soaked to his feet;
He sat down calmly on a Saigon street,
Straightened his robe, his purpose keen:
To Protest Injustice and the horrors of war.

Lighting the match - he Exploded in Flames.

One image from 'Nam was burned in my brain.

-   June 11, 1963

 

 

 

 

 

Cuttings   April     May     June     July     August

 

 

 

Months and Seasons
Quotes, Poems, Saying, Lore, Myths, Holidays, Gardening Chores
 

Winter

Spring

Summer

Fall

January

April

July

October

February

May

August

November

March

June

September

December 

 

 

 

 

 

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Copyrighted 2008 by Michael P. Garofalo. 
Green Way Research, Red Bluff, California.
All rights reserved.

 

I Welcome Your Comments, Ideas, Contributions, and Suggestions
E-mail Mike Garofalo in Red Bluff, California

 

Who is Mike Garofalo?

 


Cuttings:  June - Hot Spring-Summer Days
Haiku, Concrete and Short Poems by Michael P. Garofalo
First Distributed on the Internet WWW in September 1999.

 


The Spirit of Gardening

Quotes for Gardeners

Zen Poetry

Concrete Poetry

Cuttings - Haiku, Concrete, and Short Poems by Mike Garofalo

Green Way Blog

 

 

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