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Showing posts with label Robin. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Robin. Show all posts

Tuesday, May 5, 2020

Observation - May 5th, 2020, Tuesday

It is a bright morning

There is a plane flying overhead, though the city is quiet

There is a robin chirping in the tree outside my window

My lady is working at loom, weaving on a hoop

Kitty is begging for butter

Seventy thousand Americans will have died

From complications due to COVID-19

By the end of today

The news is increasingly grim

There are politicians telling us to prepare

Be ready to lose more

Americans must be ready to sacrifice

Like they did in World War II

This time we march into the jaws of a faceless beast

To feed an economy, that is hungry for our lives

As valuable as kibble, scattered on the floor

Tuesday, April 3, 2018

Observation - April 3rd, 2018, Tuesday

Everything is covered in snow
             A thick sheet of ice

Clings to the ground beneath it

            The treachery of April

Cold, seeping through the window

            Plows scrape the street

Outside, the green lawn is buried

            Robin, into the nest retreats

Tuesday, March 22, 2016

Communing in the Garden

“Come. Sit next to us.” I heard their voices as if a chorus was speaking.
Of all the people in the world, their harmonies voiced only for me.
“We are more interesting than the slender spruce that caught your eye.
“We who are sheltered here; beneath the fir that drew you,
“Beneath those swaying pinion-arms.
“We are bright, and green; white-bejeweled blades of grass!”

The clustered onions spoke inside my head.
Telepathic tufts of foliage, sprouting thin wooden stems between the green, leg-like fronds.
Each stem crowned with two dozen beads, minute flowerets breaking free;
From the paper thin crèche they nested in.
The grassy blades were onion-sweet, the flower-gems; rich and garlicky.
They were a small and pungent society.

Robin watched me where I sat; the dancing bird, a red-breasted flutter of wings;
Watching me kneeling in the damp earth, curious to see me fondling the onions.
My seeking fingers brushing through the emerald locks.
Ignoring the yellow flowers of the bushy dill,
And the purple sage growing everywhere.

Allium Senecens
Ornamental Onion