The summer grass is,
,still in abundance
in verdancy as
stretches of foot-high
stalks blow in the wind
their rebellious hair
and flaunting their
slender limbs to taunt
the neighboring yards.
It is as ifthey stretch for miles
the wind comes sweeping
down the plains,” or rather
I know I should mow,
perhaps HOA will come knocking,
the weeds may launch an attack
or cat may lose herself,
a lion stalking prey,
but the view
from a house-cage,
artificially cool is made
so much wilder by overgrown
stretches that bend light
with a gust of wind and
darker when still.
“OOOKlahoma, the wavin’
wheat sure smells sweet
when the wind comes
right behind the rain,”
in this marvel of a spring.
My backyard is Oklahoma,
wild and untamed by man and nature
my overgrown grass
stretches yards in breezes,
not yet yellow
and wilting under summer,
but still green
under tornado wake rain.
My grass waves its foot
long arms goodbye to
the season and
I may as well let it run
wild in the last few weeks
It appears that she is floating,
not a limb pressing down on the cool
grass beneath four feather-paws
as she tenses her entire body, pulling
with stored energy and killing motive
as the butterfly is in her sights.
Her golden tuffs of fur
are the only part visibly moving,
as she imperceptibly shifts weight
and twitches with anticipation–
her victim flutters unknowingly, absent
minded and innocent to the threat.
In a second she pounces entrapping
the butterfly in an instant
but she does not kill it–not then,
because it is far more amusing as a toy.
To watch it flutter inches and fall,
all within her control, never going too far
and all the while the butterfly
is suffering as silently as its life
passed, too quiet for the human ear,
beating its wings, trying to
catch the last of the summer wind.
Please pardon my lack of coffee cups, for it seems I have not been getting Starbucks for the three bucks out of pocket.
Sometimes getting out of bed
is like fighting Caesar’s army
when my nose is the Hoover Damn
and my ears filled with cotton
the head aching with anvil weight
pressing in full force on my temple’s gate.
Whoa is me, I dare say
when sickness strikes on holiday
work seems such a frightening fate
too far away and too rigorous to make
me rise from my goose-downed tomb
a curse much like exiting the womb
and yet I persist to put on pants
and a shirt in a rather clumsy dance
from horizontal to vertical is quite the task
as I make it to the chair and desk
and back to bed for it is far too much
and life is short and unjust and plain rough.
I think I will go back to bed
to hibernate allergy season to its grave
perhaps I shall wake when my stomach growls
and calls for me to fill it’s empty pit
but then that, I think, is asking quite a lot
from yours truly, Miss Allergy Fraught.
It rained for the first time this summer,
really rained, and I
went outside to catch a raindrop
heavy in the morning heat
just to make sure it was real
and caught twenty as I
stood under the dark sky,
the one that pushed away
the 100 degree heat that had stayed
itself for months, just to pour out
in celebration for the end,
the end of tyrant heat and the start of
something new, a welcomed something
to let me know the world–after everything,
my mind dark clouds and summer contradicting–
is still turning.
As much as I would love every single one of my poems to be deeply thoughtful, I simply cant crank them out like that. So this is just a little something I jotted down while sipping tea on my apartment porch this morning.
Musings Upon Waking Up
The sweet smell of freshly mowed grass
raises up through the summer air
and tickles my nose as it passess
along on the warm summer breeze.
I take a long sip of tea
letting the chill sooth the heat
and trickle down into my soul
as I open stale pages and wait
to hear the early morning swallows
to peak their hesitant heads out
and begin to sing, to bellow
the mourning songs of spring.
They too were taking note of the heat
wishing there were still a chill
to help ease the 85 degrees
that makes us al sweat until
we’re forced inside for refuge,
the sweet blow of air conditioning
and the calm circle of the fan.
This year will be a hot one.