kneeling in the divine dirt,
ever in awe
that
seeds I have sown
and nurtured
and prayed over,
like tiny miracles,
take root.
tiny miracles
Tag: poetry
Poem: Murder Most Foul
I’m thinning basil seedlings.
Eggplant, you’re next.
I’ve killed dozens of pepper shoots,
mourning the products of
seeds that worked so hard,
tossing them out the door.
Only the very best survive.
The cat runs by with a chipmunk who may escape her maul
but will more likely end up in the middle of the yard,
his entrails split over the new-cut grass while she,
without a trace of blood on her mouth
or guilt on her head,
returns to perch on her chair,
and watch me commit murder most foul.
Survivor
And the morning after,
the ancient fir,
bearing one more scar,
and having surrendered
one more piece of self
to the swirling storm,
counted,
not the broken branches
beneath its boughs,
but the heights still to scale.
Poem: How Do I Explain
how do i explain to her
that it doesn’t get better
that it will smother
then soothe and drown her
until battered but still unbound,
she no longer fears the undertow
because,
learning to float,
she will be better
Believe in Them
Sometimes it seems easier to believe in them,
To see their sparks needing to be fanned and fed,
Than it is to do the work that feeds my own,
But when the prodding turns the embers into flames,
Their white hot divine makes plain that when I believe in them,
I believe in me.
Gratuitous Artist Pics
 There are several things that are certain in life at our house.
Dust.
Bills.
Taxes.
And if I sit down at my desk and open a keyboard or a tin of watercolor paint (it has to be watercolor paint), Jim-Bob will crawl into my arms within five minutes to offer his assistance and advice. He is now demanding full credit on all paintings, arguing that he has become an indispensable part of the creative process.
Poem – Familiar
My familiar keeps
The world and work at bay.
Heavy as a blanket,
Draping his heat over my fear,
Hiding my anxiety under
Fat and fur and purring
Till we, happily entombed
Under imaginary desert sands,
Sense that day and lull
Are done.
Ode to a Guppy
I think that I shall never see a tree,
Sweet blue Guppy,
as lovely thee.
Not even that bonsai
that looks just like mine
Is as perfect in my eye.
– written by Oscar the Guppy upon spying the identically colored guppy in the next tank
Picking My Battles 