The Darling Buds – Forget Me Not

Does the land remember

what came before?

there were forests here once

and after them fields

this little corner now that is

filled with small flowers

how short is the life

of that garden

compared to all of the land’s forms

and yet-

a thousand years from now

maybe this small part of the world

will dream of blue flowers

and be at peace

Forget-Me-Not: Memories

Every May (and sometimes into June), I do a series of poems based on Victorian flower meanings. Welcome to the Darling Buds.


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

Sleeping and Waking

Do they dream

those not yet opened buds?

Before there are flowers

do the slow-unfurling petals

imagine the face

of the sun?

What do the buds know of the world they are about to enter?

I’m always fascinated by the giant leap between development and living.


For more waking to mysterious worlds, my fantasy novel, The Guests of Honor, is available here. Its sequel, With Honor Intact, can be found here.

Scenic

We speak of scenery

as frozen snapshots

moments as beautiful

as they are sterile

stripped of context

and mosquitoes

and there is a difference

I think

between the pinned and catalogued

collection of  distant mountains

of long-passed  perfection

and standing in the messy brush of the sub-alpine

and feeling the mountain

beneath your feet

The world is best experienced by living it

There is a distance created with perfect imagery that loses the true power of imperfect reality.


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

Transitions

I waited in the city

and anticipation tasted sweet

and disappointing

but there is something to be said

for opening a door

and stepping into

magic

img_2453It is hard to describe the power of an alien world outside your window

There are few words to explain the feeling of realizing your front door is a portal to adventure.


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

Treadmarks

Roads are seasonal

whimsical things

the big ones can be seen

nearly year round

if you are a careful observer

but most of the smaller

shyer paths

can only be found

when the elusive

northern vehicle

lets its tracks burn through

the thawing ice

img_1521You can also lure out northern roads with salt

Some days, it amazes me how anyone survives the winter here.


For more tales of winter survival and elusive machinery, my fantasy novel, The Guests of Honor, is available here. Its sequel, With Honor Intact, can be found here.

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.

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.

Sunny Daze

The woman didn’t plant the sunflowers the second year

The first year

she had tilled and let them settle and

in the fall

the birds came

and

as the weather worsened

the birds tore through the seeds

and spit out the pieces

to rise the next spring

in the fallow field

The moral of the story

of course

being that

Birds in bad weather will hock together.

(I’m not ashamed.)

IMG_2166Well, maybe I’m a little ashamed.

Sometimes you just have to commit puns. I make no excuses.


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