Muhly Grass Blooms

This morning I almost didn’t make it out of bed again. Friday arrived while I slept and settled in with no particular mood.  It was simply here, sitting in the Friday chair.  I couldn’t find the anchors that were lost yesterday morning, so I had to make do with an improvised set that looked nothingContinue reading “Muhly Grass Blooms”

Calendula

I have wandered through the marigold patch while birds talk to each other.  I swear they are calling for “Richard Richard Richard”.  I wonder who Richard is or how he got lost.  I could spend hours with the marigolds, pulling leaves that are wilted, pruning branches too long and too heavy with the weight ofContinue reading “Calendula”

Old Friends

It’s Tuesday again.  This isn’t something I think consciously when the sun ushers it in like clockwork every week.  It’s something that sits in the chair in the corner of my room, patiently waiting for me to open my eyes.  Even then it doesn’t announce it’s presence.  It doesn’t say “hi” or “good fucking morning,Continue reading “Old Friends”

Sleep’s understudy

It’s late.  I overslept. That’s not accurate.  Sleep plays tricks on the grieving, coming and going outside of regularly scheduled programming.  Last night’s program was scheduled to play until circa 0500, maybe 0600 depending on the sloth rating of my mind.  Instead, on this morning, sleep shut down programming at 0300-ish and woke me upContinue reading “Sleep’s understudy”

The shadow, the tree and the road

Life is unpredictable and unforgiving.  You must accept the things it offers up without warning.  Offer is the wrong word, it implies that I have a choice to accept it or not. Some things are offered and some are just dropped, unceremoniously right in your lap.  There’s no getting around them.    Slammed into existence. Continue reading “The shadow, the tree and the road”

Soldiers never really come home

My morning was perfectly predictable.  No straying from the order I’ve re-composed around the welcoming…no, the resignation of accepting, the beginning of another day.  Now the poem I wrote rings through my head and knowing he couldn’t hear the garden symphony tears at my heart and I feel it at my core.  Stupid fucking poems. Continue reading “Soldiers never really come home”

His turn to sing

My garden is a symphony harmonizing with the bees Composer and conductor air moving through a breeze flowers strumming colors keep rhythm with the sun practiced wind picks up the chimes in the background birds talking in the crowd This is no ordinary symphony Do you hear it whisper now Air reaches out to findContinue reading “His turn to sing”