Love for the Forecaster

clouds behind the trees

Of weather searching for the signature

correcting for the miasma

of the crooked wind season

folding in on time

The supreme seer

picking apart the covenant

between nature and that

hallowed sometimes

hollow heart of hope

Warmth is king

the predictor wears the crown

to the end of the world

of cold

Today,

like a preacher

taking God

From the forests

setting her up

in a house of his own

The diviner daring

audacity to

recapture imagination

with warm words

Scattering tepid halos

upon the heads of

Farmers

Flowers

Lovers  and

The remianing

Unanointed:

SEED TIME

cropped-blooms-white-on-grn.jpg
 

Spring is coming

even to my narrow

little valley

I can tell because the post office

is delivering seed catalogs

and  silence

the local vehicle of discussion

When people think you’ve erred

somehow their lives get larger,

Silent when you enter the room


Still, there’s a sadness

when seeds don’t come to

attention – straight and narrow

on the first or second try outside

Blindly swinging at weather

that isn’t there

 

No shame in a tear shed

As the seedling is brought back inside

put at the table (yet again) to feast

on the love and attention

it failed to imbibe in its rush

to bloom

 

Inside provides the walls the structure

that can now tame my seed’s

“pathological enthusiasm” –

the stuffing of too much life in soil

too lightly tilled

 

My Seedling:

 cropped-garden-statue.jpg

Come inside where it’s warm

Do not regret your seed-time

Just learn – reall

Spring is coming

 

Seed catalogs

brighten winter’s gloom

Leafing the pages I await

you

Your authentic unrushed bloom

Promises from my garden
Promises from my garden