Tag Archives: Flowers

a foothold in the daisies

The clouds are just now learning how to speak.
There’s a foothold in the daisies,
and a slow descent of water from the creek
The sun is rising amber, slow and weak.

The melody of morning turns
it’s ear upon the repeat cooing dove
and smells of honeysuckle
wafted in from somewhere down the grove.

A single tuft of flowers out among
the complete scene of hurried traffic,
other places here and in-between-
a foothold in the daisies –
a shared embrace,
devotion to a yellow speck in space.

And safe return to where began this whole mystique,
and I am learning -just now- how to speak.


As for me,
when Cecilia sings –
the brightened notes
awaken the spring.

Leaves are new
among the trees,
when flow’rets bud
and winter flees.

Her eyes shine,
she gestures grace
and draws me in
to her dulcet embrace.

In this prime,
her melodies swarm
and hypnotize -captivate
poesy form.

Then compelled
by aires of allure,
I write simple verses-
the memory secure.


Knowing the value of such blooms,
she recorded the moment of their heyday.

Just when the cannas overflowed
and the pear trees erupted-

the flushed colors dotted her mind

so that she could memorize each cast and tone
and whisk them onto winter’s canvas

smears of rust and scarlet
over rifts,
wan and chill.

Autumn is passing its apex now. It always brings with it a sense of nostalgia, a sense of loss, an appreciation of beauty…These are some quick thoughts about the season brought on by viewing some recent photographs taken by a blogging friend. Thanks for visiting.

written while considering a photograph of a poet

in that she kneels
by the hawthorne in spring, leaning in
to absorb the blossoms
-their balm and velvet-
in silent acquiescence.

her own shoots and sprays
grow inward
and she seeks a dovetail,
tallied to share her joy and rage,

and calm the gathering in her soul.

I happened upon a photograph of Sylvia Plath as a teenager, sitting by a flowering bush, and began to consider a poem. I rather like this, it is very uncomplicated – but foreboding in a way. She was a brilliant poet. Thanks for visiting.


In her imaginary distraction,
stops as she looks around.
She selects a turn,
the one of coloring
and innuendo-
a highlighter pink
in the field of grey-
intimate overtones
of a sacred familiar-
and she pursues it.
She captures the banded words,
a gathering of flowers
to fill her hands
and draw in close,
holding her breath,
when exhalation


Setting upon her
-weariness –
while watching the boughs
the strain
measured in accented calls
bent to her will.
Along with this
a litany of swells
and shoots,
each one a memento
entangled with blooms.

But, I have no such reminder-
as the words I choose
murmur and drone
like florets
worn down by the rain,
both exhausted
and sustained
among the leaves,
smeared in abstract.

An essence of poems

In an extrusion

a mist of poems
read to the pink dusk
of September

-a pearlescent haze suspended-

before some fell like blooms
from a Rose of Sharon

– left to wane and decay with the days to bronze-

And some,

blossomed in full,
agape and yawning with nectar’s tumescence,

 curled tightly in a twist,
a final coalescence suspended
there and left in her mind,


Rose of Sharon

Memories…within yew, without yew

We do gardening on summer holidays.

It’s what we’ve always done.

Most of the time, it involves planting impatiens or petunias or marigolds. Sometimes, it can be more…I remember one Memorial Day weekend when I boldly decided to rip out a row of old growth yew shrubs from the front beds of our house (at the time). I was intent on creating new flower bed spaces and getting rid of an old shrub that I could no longer shape into anything attractive (think basic geometric shapes, 3-5 feet in size). And while yews have their redeeming qualities (they are evergreen, offer an herbal remedy for rheumatism, potential cancer cure in taxus, and they make awesome hedgerows for mazes), it wasn’t doing anything for our curb appeal.

In taking this on, I did have some concerns: I was afraid of destroying our foundation, hopeful of discovering a lost cache of pirate gold (in Ohio….yeah), or worse yet, getting half way through and realizing that the roots extend DEEP into the ground and having to call in reinforcements to yank it out of the ground.  The foundation was ok and the treasure wasn’t likely anyway, as there have been no stories of privateers sailing up the Ohio River (plus no evidence of a treasure map in our attic).

However, the roots went deep and wide…probably 50 years deep, judging by the age of our home at the time.

The first one came out easy enough, but it was near the driveway, and I either had more leverage or more horizontal root spreading to chop. The last one was not so easy… it just laughed at me, as only yews can do. I had to dig, and chop, and wedge, and dig some more…I broke a shovel. I took a break to go the nearest hardware/home improvement warehouse and buy another shovel. I think I borrowed a chainsaw or an axe from a friend. It’s all a blur now.


Finally, I won.


I chopped it into submission, and dug it out. And laying sprawled on my back on the lawn, I realized that I was free from the yew. I still had landscaping to do though, with building a retaining wall, adding soil, planting cute little boxwood shrubs (that I wouldn’t see grow to 50 years maturity- it will be someone else’s problem).

Fast forward to this weekend –

We don’t live in that house any more, and our landscaping issues are much easier.

I don’t attempt to do everything at once. In the last year I have dug a new bed along the back our house, transplanted a rose bush from the front to the back (because it get’s more sunlight there- and I don’t have to get stuck with a thorn every time I walk by it). I also transplanted 3 snowmound shrubs to the back bed because they would tend to grow over everything.

Everything needs the right amount of space.

In their place (this weekend) I planted gutter plants and dianthus (here’s hoping the rabbits don’t eat it). In the back, I weeded some rather large milkweed stalks (or it could have been alien pod plants – they appeared rather quickly and then put down some liberal amounts of weed killer and top soil. Then I planted some nice ornamental grasses, some yellow flowers (marigolds and begonias), and some tomato plants (I’m a glutton for disappointment).

So that’s how I spent my long weekend, and the beginning of summer.

Excuse me while I look for the ibuprofen.


late summer canon

I see them gathered
-the yellow susans –
day after day
on the hillside;
struggling to meet the morning sun
-petals flung down
as stretched limbs-
thrusting their faces
toward heaven,
at midday
their arms raised
in praise to a merciful deity,
and in evening
– their buds nodding en masse-
attuned to the canons
of their ancestors.