Cuttings - September

Haiku, Concrete and Short Poems

 

By Mike Garofalo 
Red Bluff, Tehama County, Northern California

 

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The back door
bangs shut!
September gust.

 

 

tidy garden
her doubts
tied in a line

 

 

Dead fox head
on the road's edge
flags at half mast.

 

 

A wet pile
of dead doves -
Labor Day sports.

Quieter now,
the cooing of doves;
unloaded shotguns.

 

 

shallow puddle
slowly drying ditch
flopping fish

 

 

Branches filled with blackbirds
Chirping time in swaying leaves.
Spent the hour, and could be heard,
Then disappeared.  Leaving silent leaves.

 

 

A huge nest of Wasps
In the Pyracantha's claws
Sharp and still at dusk

 

 

Broadway 2000
Cats closing,
T.S. Eliot's last "Meow"

 

 

morning coffee sans sugar
    sipped in silence
still her cold shoulder

 

 

Flip flopping
horsetails;
flooded field.

 

 

suddenly
she sneezed
into the moonflower

 

 

A rooster crowed thrice,
Splitting the silence of the night.
Distant, near,
Breath by breath,
Over the edge of heartbreaks;
Facing imminent death.

Arrested in a garden,
and dead in a day;
He left behind baskets fine
All filled with bread, fish, and wine.

[The Garden of Gethsemane; Matthew 26:36-46.] 

 

 

Beyond
the scarecrow's reach,
stray goats.

 

 

Shriveled figs
hang on the branch
hospice courtyard.

 

 

Bunches of red grapes
shriveled up
handfuls of raisins.

 

 

campus clarion
keeps the pace for the place
time after time

 

 

(9 + 11 + 01) x Jihad  =   (- 3300  - 4  - 3) + shock

 

 

full of seeds
sunflowers
face the earth

 

 

Withered vines,
crispy leaves -
    summertime leftovers.

 

 

 

Clear-cut ------------------------------------
               sunburnt shrubs, oozing stumps,
               raw bulldozer ruts ::::::::::::::

 

 

Concret Poems by Michael P. Garofalo
       

                                                                                    ['crete'oems:mpg]

 

 

 

I caught my step;
Stopped, reared back, eyes stuck!
The snake was still.

 

 

Midnight
the smell of skunk
on the southern breeze.

 

 

Bad karma bleeding
over centuries of hate;
a heartless eye for a blind eye,
a toothless scream for another.

We wiped away
our tears
late summer sunset.

[9/11/2001]

                                

 

Dust gathered by chance
welcomed home by the porch
the broom stands askance.

 

 

Sacred Heart's steeple
in the half-moon light
distant thunder.

 Entering
 the old church;
 clear holy water.

 

 

Cleaning up woodpiles
cord of walnut on the way ...
black spiders scatter.

 

 

Shadows from a slice of moonshine
Ripple down the sagging vines
Unburdened of their sweet red sex,
Withered, grotesquely bent, impotent.
Yet they live on, now as I:
Mouthfuls of wet seeds turned to chyme,
Reborn as muscles, eyes, and Mind.

 

 

eyes horizontal
nose vertical;
a mind stood up
    side
        down

 

 

put away the tent.   my friend died.
why bother camping lakeside.

 

 

 

 

 

 

She passed away
on her journey of no return;
leaving her bottomless soul.

 

 

.....

While sitting in my den one summer evening, reading and writing, my white cat, Ms. Q, jumped into my lap. 
As I stroked her soft fur, and she purred with delight, she bit the edge of the spiral notebook I was writing on:

 

I write, the cat bites;
            the spiral notebook in hand
            holds words and tooth marks.

 

This cat in my lap
purring, eyes closed, ears back
fur on my fingers.

.....

 

 

 

Sunset settles on
Mount Yolly Bolly's peak -
Summer has gone.

 

 

Killing 3,000 people
to sleep with 60 virgins in Allah's heaven?
Men have one testicle too many. 

Vomiting
up the stench of burnt corpses
cheering zealots can't smell.

 

 

 

open gate
saluting
daybreak

 

 

His rice field ripens
in September sunshine
he died today anyway.

 

 

.....

Oreo is my dog, of Shepherd-Husky mix - three years old, in 1999, alert,
a wanderer, curious, a troublemaker, always hungry:

 

Oreo chews a wet bone
shaded by the low arbor;
the flies wait their turn.

 

The dog pounced
on the broken-winged dove,
Eyes still alive!

 

The scattered feathers
of a dead mourning dove;
blood in the dog's lair.

 

Cool wind at our backs,
a whiff of summer drifts by
the dogs' noses rise.

.....

 

 

just like a man!
The macho metaphysics
of a bull in a Temple
Knight of the Creatrix.

 

 

.....

Lake Almanor is a large scenic mountain lake in nearby Plumas County.  Douglas fir, ponderosa pine,
Western red cedar and manzanita grow right down to the rocky shoreline.  Mt. Lassen and Brokeoff
Mountain, the remnants of ancient Mount Tehama, all volcanoes, loom above all at the northwest end of
the lake.  Lake Almanor is a recreational haven for families from the hotter North Sacramento Valley. 

 

Water skiers racing by
Motorboats on Labor Day
Their waves slap the shore.

 

Small boys throwing stones
gathered from volcanic shores
the lake swallows more.

 

Gurgling streams
Mount Lassen's snow
                                melts
                                       down.

 

From the mountain's breast
Mill Creek, Deer Creek, Battle Creek flow ....
Feeding crops below.

 

.....

 

 

Restless bull
wants his cows
gate locked.

 

 

Full moon
not up
I stumble forward,
blind.

 

 

ditch Full
pumps Humming ...
Work Begins

 

 

The train's blaring horn
runs beyond the tracks and streets
startling us.

 

 

Sparrows bathe and dance
in the spray of the sprinkler;
the sun dries their wings.

 

 

Lined along barbed wire
shitting cows staring me down -
I piss and stare back.

 

 

Green Yellow Tan Brown
The wilted leaves fallen down;
Crunched by her shoes.

 

 

Daylight peeking in
through the parted window blinds;
I pull up my pants.

 

 

Fishing guides sip coffee
chatting about the Chinook holes
trolling for clients.

 

 

Snarling heat
refusing to retreat
Dog Days

 

 

Dragonflies mating,
hovering over puddles
thirsty for loving.

 

 

After nightfall
the winds die away
clear summer sky.

 

 

The fifteenth foul fart
rumbled down my bloated gut
chewed chili beans. 

 

 

Lightening bolts:
    cutting purple thunderclouds
    covering blue mountains.

 

 

A few cards
short of a full deck;
he played well anyway.

 

 

The freight train rumbles by: a few almonds drop,
star-thistles quiver, off steel wheels bounce rocks.

 

 

 

 

 

Concrete Poems by Michael P. Garofalo

                                                    

                                                                  ['crete'oems:mpg]

 

 

 

 

Logging rigs and river
roaring down Klamath Canyon
cold rain falls. 

 

 

The hungry dogs
bark at the back door;
the cat circles her bowl.

 

 

Leaf after leaf
turns yellow
the fall of summer.  

 

 

 

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   

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Cuttings:    July     August     September     October     November

 

 

 

Months and Seasons
Quotes, Poems, Saying, Lore, Myths, Celebrations
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:  September - Hot Dry Summer-Autumn 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

Months, Seasons:  Poems, Quotes, Sayings, Lore, Celebrations, Myths, Gardening Chores

Zen Poetry

Concrete Poetry

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

Green Way Blog

 

 

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