Sunday, January 18, 2009

The Roses of Espana

When I see roses
I remember Espana
Dozens and dozens
Upon the bough
Tended by mother's hand
The moderate climate
Kissing the petals
Morning waters
Vaporizing slow, calm
Little aphids
Close inspection
Under farming ants
White imperfect picket fence
Acorns falling
Down the way
A breeze through my hair
Crabgrass underfoot
Spaniel/poodle mix
Wig-wagging her body
Very few clouds
In the boundless sky
Lemon-scented beauties
Alive in the garden
Gifts to my table
Feast for the senses.

Zen Zen Zen Zen

Here be I
On the phone
With podunks
Grating my frustration
Down on innocent teeth
While they peck peck peck
In seedless dirt
For witless explanations
Robbing my world
Of precious minutes
Stable blood pressure
Turning into magma
I cannot reach
Through the connection
To strangle the inept
Therefore I stew
Forgetting zen
Making myself unhealthy
I must remember the stars
On a still night
Breathing in clear air
Sweeping these feelings
Out of the mind's door
Returning to nothingness.