Monday, April 16, 2012

I'm six poems behind, as of today. But now just a few: this is what happens when I wake up to a windy, 70 degree day and have coffee in the backyard.


Framed by ropes of wires
Against the flattened blue
Eerily slow, clouds crawl
Ignoring the surface of sky
And its features-- birds, ancient branchings
The points of pine or the skittering sun

Heedless, like the
Mind of God


What Really Happened to Them

The last of the bees, huddled
Hidden in a fallen oak
Half a mile past some stream
Gathered their wings
Singing furious rhyme.

Hanging together
In a crowded new shape
They flew forth to become
The next jaguar.



The peonies left and took the ants with them
Tigerlilies were on the fence, but
The roses are in revolt, so
I weed more carefully
Hoping to build goodwill--

And sow an army of sunflowers
Just in case.


by MK

1 comment:

Songsville said...

Yup, we need more jaguars -- though not less bees I guess ... maybe they can come back and pollinate in the jaguar off-season ...