First Day Of Spring

Wouldn’t it be great
If I could soon pollinate
But can’t seem to find the right flower
So here is your Bee
Down on bent, creaky knee
Hoping to sway in love’s power

You certainly do impress
With your floral print dress
How it adds to your bonny dower
And I’m sorta pretty cute
Before you in my old King Bee suit
O Queen, let’s retire to yonder regal tower

Certainly would be grand
Take me hand-in-hand
We’ll whisk off to the nearest private bower
Ah, but still here by myself
No bees, dwarfs, nor elf
In isolation how I lowly cower

So on this first day of Spring
Not doing much of anything
Only to enjoy the next soft shower
It could be so great
If I would soon pollinate
But can’t seem to find the right flower

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A Simple Question

I was born
The petals of my life flower burst open
My shoots ached to touch the sky
Roots reached down embracing Mother Earth’s hug
Bees came, and I was pollinated
My youngens sprout at my feet
Frosts came and robbed me of my face
Springs return gave me back my voice
And sunshine ruled my every day
And now my old brittle petals close back again
The night attracts with stars and luminous futility
I once came to see and now long for sleep
Withering stems
And low-slung pistils
Call me home to Mother Earth
And I must answer
We all must answer
Because the simple question envelops us
But Nature doth fulfill and fails—
Clover softly calls us to assume fallow
And the warm soil receives our kind

A Leaf of Plot

Death raised his scythe on high
The Final Answer was at hand
No more questions broached
No replies begged or risked demand

The leaf at last let it all go
Fluttered to its demise below
The wind added its sighed contempt
Blew our leaf scuttering to a future undreamt

Down the path with attention rapt
A 17-nothing wrought prose off the rack
Laurie screamed—the leaf brushed her face!
Characterization blanched: there’d be no turning back

A writer in a Nature, freed of pretense
Her plot thickened and made Total Sense
Death winced scurrilously and not too haughty
17-nothing conjured twists bland and who knows—naughty?

The wind richened and hurried our protagonists along:
A dead leaf and a fallowed teenager trying to catch the song

As It Will

Small people, little people
The Wind knows nothing of these
Big times, noble times
The Rains still fill the trees
Grand Love, Heartbreak
Discover your knees
One death, another last breath
Time passes as it will please

A month ends, a new week shines
No right answer calls
Newborn cries, an old lady sighs
A poor candle spits and stalls
Sun glows, Moon rises
Cold blusters thru the walls
A bell rings, the horde finds the access road
Time and midday traffic stalls

Little people, my people
Earthkind teeming all around
Mere races, many-coloured faces
Trying to keep above ground
Have Faith with Freedom to saith~
I disagree with what you propound
Singers spiel, Dancers reel
Look to what Music has found

Another death, one last breath
Time passes as it will please

Go On

The guilty aren’t all punished,
The guilty aren’t all caught,
And life goes on,
Like as not.

The innocent aren’t all saved,
The innocent aren’t all freed,
And life goes on,
Ponderous, without heed.

Chords round, all in a tumble.
Broken bass lines oft fumble;
And life goes on,
All Nature in a jumble.

The deserving aren’t all rewarded,
The deserving aren’t all relieved,
And life goes on,
If such is to be believed.

The worthless aren’t all discarded,
The worthless aren’t all reprieved,
Life goes ever on,
Howsoever we are aggrieved.

Music can find the immaterial,
Poems can manifest the ethereal,
Life’s symphony then finds the coda :||
And we all go on, whether true or venal.