Monday, June 26, 2017

Poem: Off The Rails

Bombings in Mosul
  in London, in France
     car bombs, drone attacks

house to house fighting in Syria
  Isis on the move, always
    broken bodies of innocents

broadcast ritual beheadings
   children left orphans
      hospitals as targets

boats full of refugees
   real news and lies
       trust and truth in shreds

Afghanistan, the Taliban
   Korea with the bomb
     The U.S. on the sidelines
     
the coral reefs are dying
  deserts are advancing
    deep ice is melting
   
When leaders lose their reason
    the rest of us will suffer
       the least of us will die

Saturday, June 24, 2017

Summer Soltice

Butterfly Bush is hosting the Summer Bee Convention this week, lots of colors and sizes of the industrious little buzzers busily having their adverbial way with those purple blossoms. I don't notice any animosity between the types of bees, but I might not recognize it if I saw it.  None of them pay me much mind, unless I step too close. They quickly give way to me; it is a large bush, everyone is welcome.
    I have three hummingbird feeders hung along the porch above the bush, and I have two pair of Hummingbirds. Three feeders and four tiny, bejeweled hummers.  One would think there would be plenty of sugar water to go around, but that is not the case. These wee birds require so much energy to simply stay in flight and yet they waste it by fighting all the time, with everyone. They don't like the cats hanging around on the porch and they aren't too happy about me hanging around there either.  Wow, they're not just territorial, they are  TERRITORIAL!  I'm not sure why they are this way, all 'up in everyone's grill', but they need to get over themselves.
     I mean, there is an entire Butterfly Bush down below their feeders, housing a host of bees getting along in the nicest way all day long, buzzing and sipping, buzzing and sipping.  The Hummers should take a lesson. (Who DO they think they are? Yes dears, we all see your shimmering green coats and those scarlet throats. So? You are not of more worth that the bees, in case you were thinking otherwise.)  Why can't we all just get along?
    Oh well, there is much happening in the gardens this week: ripe tomatoes, yellow squash, new potatoes, dill. The Marigolds are blooming to beat the band, bringing light to some dark corners. The fountain is fighting me a little, but I'll figure it out soon enough.  We have lost my mother's beautiful rose bush, sadly.  It happened all at once, as it often does with roses.  It was glorious and then, all of a sudden, it was gone.  It breaks my heart. I've posted many pictures of these lovely pink roses for you over the years.  I won't pull it out yet; I'll treat and trim and see what happens.
      There is a lot of haranguing coming out of Washington these days. I'm hoping the more intelligent and honorable of the group can talk some sense into the others and, if that isn't possible, hold them accountable for some of the idiot moves that are being proposed. This healthcare thing: I hope it isn't true that a lot of folks with pre-existing conditions are going to left out in the cold.  I hope not, I hope congress isn't that mean-spirited and petty, but you never know. (And, by the way, pregnancy is not a pre-existing condition...I'm just throwing that out there.) It bothers me that there were no women in that secret group who sequestered themselves and came up with the health plan.  Were they afraid the women might raise some awkward questions?  Who knows.  Oh well--
     I like the community in my gardens, everything working together, shading, nourishing, blooming side by side.  Yes, there is that tenacious little vine that wants to choke out everything else, to its own benefit, but we have a nice system of checks and balances out there.  The other plants let the vine climb up into the sunlight, bullying everyone else around, stepping on toes and the like, and then I can see what it's up to and I unceremoniously jerk it out of there. If you give someone enough rope, sometimes they will hang themselves with it.  We'll see what happens. That is all the time I'm giving to the politicians. I'll heading outdoors to enjoy the beauty.

Saturday, June 17, 2017

What Needed To Be Done


   


     The rifle jammed the other morning while I was out shooting at bottles and cans.
I took it over to my dad to help me sort it out. He took it apart, cleaned it, figured out the problem, and we put it back together.  That last part sounds so simple when I write it like that but, in fact, it took us more than an hour trying to figure it out before we Googled it. After that it took us 30 seconds.  We are both in the wrong generations to have thought of that earlier.  *sigh*
      Anyway, I brought the gun home and crept around the yard, morning and night, looking for the pesky cat that has been terrorizing my cats, but had no luck.  I might see him, but he would slink off into the underbrush (of which there is a ton at this time) before I could get a clean shot. He liked to head toward the propane tank or a parked car.  I took to always parking the car in the garage, which for me is a novel idea AND I really, really do not want to shoot the propane tank. (Oh, by the way, that demon cat succeeded in raiding the Wren's nest and eating all the baby birds the other day.Yeah, there's that.
     Then one evening I fed the cats and heard a little bit of yowling shortly thereafter. I ran (okay--walked incredibly fairly quickly), got the gun, and slipped out the other door.  When I peaked around the corner of the house THERE HE WAS! so I threw the gun up to my shoulder and fired away, giving not a single thought to the propane tank. (!) As luck would have it I hit the cat...twice...as he flipped and flangled his way through the gardens and under our little foot bridge. Then I didn't hear anything.  Nothing happened for a long time over there by the bridge, which I took to be a good thing. I watched from the porch.
      After an hour or two, Marsh and I turned the bridge over and found a huge armadillo hole under there but no cat. Well, what do you know!   I assumed he had run down into the hole, so I filled it with dirt, stomped it down, and resettled the bridge on top of it. Done and done. I have not seen him since.
     My two cats seem much more relaxed these past few days.  Dead-eye-Deb rides again. It's not a skill I have call to use very often, but once in a while it comes in handy. (This picture is not of Dead-Eye-Deb; this is a picture of Annie Oakley, a young woman who really could shoot like nobody's business. I think we look a little bit alike and are probably related.)
  
P.S.  Note to people in town:

 STOP DUMPING YOUR CATS BESIDE  HOUSES IN THE COUNTRY.
WE HAVE ALL THE CATS WE NEED AND WE END UP HAVING TO SHOOT THEM FOR YOU. (This is first day stuff, people.)

Poem: Simplexity

Weary with sculpting wordsongs,
frustrated with rhythm and rhyme,
I stand, snap off the light, and step
outside, having missed the day entire.
    Starlight ~
larkspur and roses, moonlight gilded,
orange lilies standing open to the light.

I am wrapped in shadowed beauty as
the midnight orchestra serenades,
sizzling on the edges of wild silence.
The garden sighs a summer fragrance:
      honeysuckle~
wrapping me like a fringed shawl, teasing
a slow smile, soft eyes, savored breath.

(I was missing this for pen and paper?!) 
A breeze cools my face as a community
of fireflies grace this sacred space with
their elegant, unhurried calligraphy,
      mystical communion~
Careful not to disturb, intoxicated with scent,
and glory, I am ravished in nature's embrace.






Tuesday, June 13, 2017

Poem: The Invisible Ones

We walk, hurrying a little,
our minds already present
at our destination; we walk,
alone yet so close to others.
   All eyes down,
      There is a pace to keep.

What gifts reside in the unfortunate,
invisible ones, screened from our
sight by what we expect to see?
What sorrows undiminished?
       All eyes down,
          There are things to do.
        
On we walk, wearing unawareness
like a cloak against connection.
Past the broken man with matted
hair and missing teeth.
       All eyes down,
          He is not my problem.

He speaks your name, in a voice
you know; a familiar half smile,
a reaching hand from thirty years gone.
History and alarm jerk you aside.
       All eyes down,
          "For this is my body".
        

Nothing New Under The Sun

                                                  My female cat, Sweetie
    
                 In my prayer garden there are four curved flower beds full of a glorious mix of plants and colors.  I welcome diversity, always.  But there are two plants which are pulled out mercilessly, as often as they are spotted. One of them is one of the few plants to actually sport true blue flowers, which I love, of course.  The other is a dainty little light green climbing vine with heart shaped flowers and beautiful tendrils. Why, you may ask, am I so dead-set on ripping them out the earth and tossing them on the compost?
    Because they won't leave well enough alone.  They do not play well with others.  They take over everything they touch and either strangle the plant from above or poison the earth below. They have allowed themselves to become a nuisance and have given up their rights and freedoms as a result.

     There is also a wild cat that has been hanging around for a few months. He was dropped off by someone because they were tired of him. (A drive-by catting) I hesitated to chase him away in the beginning because he is black and white, as are my two current cats.  I thought they might make friends and welcome him into the clan with the secret handshake and a password known only to black and white cats. But, no! They don't like him; have never liked him.  They have chased him away on multiple occasions, but he returns. Lately, the story has taken a turn of sorts.  The wild cat (let's call him Zumba) has begun fighting with my two cats.  It turns out Zumba is one helluva fighter and most nights, the silence is broken by the screams and hissing of a genu-ine, scare you right out of your sleep, cat fight.  When I go out in the morning there is black and white fur all over the porch.  My cats are showing some battle scars and are jumpy as hell. Zumba is taking them to the park!  Unbelievable.
       Therefore, I have been doing some target practice with the rifle and hope to run him off before push comes to shove (or to Piuwww!) and I have to actually drop him where he stands some morning. 

Why can't we all just get along?
Why can't they live together without bullying each other out of the opportunities for light and food.  That is your spot, this is my spot. I won't crowd you and you don't crowd me. How difficult is that?  There really is enough food, water, and sunlight for all of us. Seriously!