Tuesday, September 18, 2012

Early Harvest

Hollyhock high as a house,
yapping dog smaller than parson's shoes.
Gray wall of fog mutes
the pink tiles and garden whistler.

To grow things is to know things.
But I've assumed too much
having met my first atheist corn rower.

Not for me to prove seeds swelling to fruit
are for courage as much as cobbler.
Talking to dirt a comfort 
to being born of dust.

Scarecrow's got some sense.
Looking up for rain. It comes
with or without praying,
can't argue that.

Takes a certain talent to ignore
miracles. Imagine the poems
I could write
if this whole world
were up to me.

Friday, September 14, 2012

Pigeon English

A man seeds pigeons,
doesn't have to be a man,
eight bucks a month for coos
and guano,
crows come too
cawing for attention.

Not pretty, 
nobody watching
the scatter get pecked,
some fall by the wayside
and sprout.

The strange maize escapes the birds
and waves a foot higher
than the broken sidewalk.

My neighbor, never seen,
spreads the gospel of grace
to critters bobbing heads
and pedestrians carrying bread.

Sunday, September 2, 2012

BS Poem

Be still
and know I am God
Be silly
and know I am God
Be serene
and know I am God
Be strident
and know I am God
Be special, be singular,
be surprised
and know I am God.

Be sincere and know I am God.

Be salt, be Saint So-and-So,
be sober, be salubrious
and know I am God.

Note to self,
Be self being selfless
and know I am God.