Still Waters

The frantic energy of running water

seems like a force that can’t be challenged

and it is strange

to stand on the frozen bank

and no longer feel

the heartbeat

img_0472Water is the bloodstream, still or moving

I am always fascinated, and unnerved, by the way that winter puts life and movement on hold.


For more freezing, and thawing, my fantasy novel, The Guests of Honor, is available here. Its sequel, With Honor Intact, can be found here.

The River Runs

There are so many rivers here

They form the land’s bloodstream

Connected and connecting

Cut through and scarred by

Careless roads and railways

Still, they pulse, washing outwards

Always surging into the heartbeat

Of the sea

img_2342Life begins with water

I am always awed to be a small part of the many cycles that pass around me


For more cycles, wet or otherwise, my fantasy novel, The Guests of Honor, is available here. Its sequel, With Honor Intact, can be found here.

Intoxication

The birds flee

to coasts to rivers to

places where snow is a dream

and not a nightmare

There are always some that stay

small birds

more noise than size

They have strange ways of handling

the winter

Mostly, waiting until the ash berries

rot

and getting themselves drunk enough

to forget the cold

or be eaten by the sober hungry

img_1167Some coping strategies are less deadly than others

Intoxication is always more dangerous when things want to eat you.


For more coping, dangerous and otherwise, my fantasy novel, The Guests of Honor, is available here. Its sequel, With Honor Intact, can be found here.

Shelter

Up close, there are always

a thousand things that need doing

fading paint and sealant slowly dissolving

It was a chicken pen once

and now is only storage

A rough shack and yet-

I still remember when the freak

snowstorm made it impossible

to get back to the house

Somehow it was hard to see the

fading paint

through the thickness of the roof

img_1163It’s what’s inside that counts

In this case, mainly wheelbarrows, but those walls are thick and secure.


For more secure, and less secure, walls, my fantasy novel, The Guests of Honor, is available here. Its sequel, With Honor Intact, can be found here.

Seasonal Perspective

I prefer to remember the maple in fall-

Thirty years to grow

and only a single

spring afternoon to

dismantle

Even though it fell onto the rising buds

and the slow-emerging rhubarb

I prefer to remember the maple in fall

when it was at its most powerful

and not merely

a collection of branches

that blotted out

the sun

img_0266Most powerful when dying

I’ve always thought of autumn colours as a brilliant burst of defiance against the dying of the light.


For more defiance in the face of death, my fantasy novel, The Guests of Honor, is available here. Its sequel, With Honor Intact, can be found here.

Perspective

The rustic signs of neglect

are always

much more beautiful and artistic

when they aren’t in

your backyard

img_0233It’s hard to separate problem rust from artistic rust

It’s much easier to care about artistic composition when you aren’t worried about being flooded.


For more descriptions of things that are falling apart, artistically and otherwise, my fantasy novel, The Guests of Honor, is available here. Its sequel, With Honor Intact, can be found here.

The Careless Gardener

It is a careless gardener

Who leaves the lettuce to form great forests

Of inedible lettuce trees

And watches the juniper and strawberries

Become so tangled that everything

In the garden box makes

You a little drunk

A careless gardener

Who leaves the plants to bloom

And grow untrimmed

So that they climb deep

Into the mind’s memory

Of green and growth

A careful

Root cellar of resistance

Against the emptiness

Of winter

img_2186There is more than one way to feed

Gardens are food for more than one appetite.


For more multi-purpose feeding, my fantasy novel, The Guests of Honor, is available here. Its sequel, With Honor Intact, can be found here.

Memento Mori

We think of the dead

as they connect to us

Through stories and pictures

ours and others

Through the physical reminders

left in their wake

Those who collect the physical

objects of dead women

Can separate the antiques

from the possessors

Can pretend that the light

catching the glass

is new to their eyes only

img_2238Some dead we hold onto and some we prefer to forget

Memory of what -and who- have passed is always difficult.


For more memories of the dead and the living, my fantasy novel, The Guests of Honor, is available here. Its sequel, With Honor Intact, can be found here.

 

 

 

Garden Politics

The slugs were thick in the tomatoes

Curled into the leaves and scraping

holes

For the earwigs to fill

It was fireblight on the plum trunk

The plums defiantly sweet

In the face of death

Garden fruit and vegetables

all

Bearing proud battle scars

Nothing ate the zucchini.

IMG_2243Zucchini is a lesson that everyone refuses to learn

Survival is not necessarily a virtue.


For tales that don’t involve zucchini, The Guests of Honor, is available here. Its sequel, With Honor Intact, can be found here.

Practical Metaphors

I would say that

Gardening is meant to

Feed the soul

But have you seen

The price of onions?

IMG_2142Rich in metaphors. Rich in onions.

You would think that I couldn’t find multiple ways to use onions as metaphors. You would be wrong.


For more metaphorical and practical plants, The Guests of Honor, is available here. Its sequel, With Honor Intact, can be found here.