Bluffo-the-clown on Emptee

Bluffo would be grateful (if he could be) to dear congressional Emptee Green

for public shifting of blame from his own recommendation to inject bleach

to Dr. Fauci for COVID errors and even suggesting cover-up

which instantly arouses those who threaten the lives of the loved ones

of those accused without evidence

realizing, of course, that by raising “alternate facts,” such evidence

can always be manufactured

-         Poor Bluffo, man of conviction

Bells of the Cascades and Cathedral Bells

Bells of the Cascades and Cathedral Bells “Encore” June 2, 2024

riveted to watching, listening

soaring with the handbell skill

and techniques we sat forward

on our seats to take in the music

before it lifted to the multi-story

archway over the cathedral crux

Matthew Compton and Alex Guebert

composers, arrangers, directors

intense musicians and collaborating friends bringing us masterful “Nexus,”

“Reconciliation,” and “All Creatures

of Our God and King”

the joy of experiencing awe

i’m okay

hurting enough to hide

unwilling to admit uncertainty

finding chores around home

to pretend i am accomplishing

anything

rich tone painting

green parading in nature as a multitude

tints, hues, opacities, intensities

pigments, stains, tinctures from near yellow

chartreuse, citron, pistachio, smalt, terre-verte

to glistenings of aqua, azure, woad, indigo, zaffer

each tree its own patterns of shadow

and brilliance, each blade of grass

a whisper that dares to join the chorus

of field, meadow, link or lawn

to name them all – impossible, but

oh, the fun of trying!

emerald, olive, avocado, jade, lime, bottle, sea…

something comfortable

i slip into something comfortable

well-worn slacks and soft, long-armed

shirt that warms, caresses arthritic

wrists and helps bent fingers write

what my nature-filled acres

in the foothills gifts to my joyous soul

after the storm

sol has settled to mere colossal splurges

of solar wind hurling into space

without favoritism toward life on earth

survival is our business although

our shortsighted greed and propensity

for hatred seem more than adequate

to secure annihilation on our own

weathered face

(haiku)

weathered face of stone

or battered sea cliff or man

life experienced

belief in self

(haiku)

white-speckled petunias

red petals drop cloth-looking

stand tall as if pink  

“I” gone

headstones in old cemeteries

tell stories in names, dates and epithets

we can conjure but never be sure

loved ones may never die so long

as we live in someone’s memory

but that means “we,”  “I” will disappear

“I” will cease to exist, even in memory

but was I not part of something vast

beyond my comprehension?

was  “I” not merely a trickle in a brook

the merged into a stream  that joined

a mighty river to the sea?

narrowing down

the problem with near constant

hurt is distraction of attention

to the rest of the world as though

only i were important

memorial

the breeze a gentle reminder

of his touch near my shoulder

when he wanted to share

the antics of a bird on the wire fence

or a doe still beside the pine

at the edge of the meadow

i had not yet seen

you don’t say

 speaking of saying aloud

what we feel inside

brings tears to the grieving

the angry, the hopeless

and betrayed—agitation

that tears within us until

given opportunity to erupt

or—grant heaven!—to speak

take off

just after midnight

my alarm jangles to rise

to take family to the airport

for a trip to the east coast

they love to travel and i wish

them well as long as they are able

on being heard

the aggravating feeling of being patted

on the head and told “there, there”

to a chorus of platitudes or pitying stare that assumes i am being hysterical

not only does not help but also

frustrates, humiliates and gets nowhere

the compelling feeling of being heard

having someone listen carefully enough

to begin testing for the consequences

of my assertions, not to prove me wrong

but in an effort to determine the cause

raises the promise of help

in finding a solution

so many help

some friends help so far

beyond my expectations

seeing a need before i express it

and quietly filling in gaps

i would have stumbled over

i am so blessed with family

and insightful friends

renewed hope

finally the head of the osprey female

showed above the high side of the nest

to give me hope of the survival

of this pair that has come each year

for a decade to ritchey road

weeks ago we watched the male

at work reinforcing the sticks and daily

from then perching near or flying off

as though for food for a family we

could not see and were concerned

had not survived the spell of nasty

weather that came down on them

not long after we were sure their eggs

had been laid for the next generation

scrubs not exactly bullies

flaunting dusky blue, white bib

and greater size western scrub jays

land on the curved metal support

for the bird feeder platform

and chickadees, wrens, even thrushes

flit away from their midday snacking

to allow the intruder full access

to the tiny yellow, red and green beads

in the metal bowl

it isn’t exactly bullying, just taking

what is offered by smaller

less assertive neighbors

not without sin

a sin to throw away anything

that might still have usefulness

child that i am of parents

who started married life together

early in the Great Depression 

Mom left cupboard after cupboard

of washed, capped jars as i have one such low kitchen cabinet stocked

with glass containers ready 

for second, third or tenth use

magazine envelopes yield large scraps

of paper for shopping lists or cut down

to 3 x 5 for index cards

rubber bands securing asparagus

are wound around a plastic tube on

my desk, some waiting their next duty

until old age robs them of elasticity so

they quietly snap at touch lying

in useless line where their lifework had been the ability to encircle and hold

together as mine was to continue

saving and building until i, too

lie down, unable any longer

to gather scraps or to mend the broken bits the world has handed me

or to enfold and protect those i love

until they can grow and flourish

water’s give and take

tiny waves sweep outward

crisscrossing intricate competing circles

between rows of feathered carrot tops

as each dense raindrop plummets

from the toolshed’s melodious

metal roof splashing, heavy,

into shallow brown ditch water

or trickle into rivulets gurgling

to caress the lowest points

of Mama’s garden

I scour her fine furrows

with the blunt end of a stick

trying to drain this overabundant

life-sustaining gift of water to keep

it from drowning her days

of planting, hoeing and

humming in hope

feeling earth

dust between my fingers flitters away in breeze i barely register

sand between my toes tenders memories of childhood joy

garden earth between my palms enriches past and future

for garden dirt that supplied our table promises to feed our family's souls