Post by Deleted on Jul 19, 2008 4:35:00 GMT
Just a Little Joy
I have a big backyard
that I share with God’s finer creations.
Objects of rare and ardent beauty
lent to me to tend and till.
Oh so good to grab the earth
and pack the earthworm’s mud,
to be His gardens keeper.
So I say, all cheer the fancy daffodils,
regard the much maligned dandelion
and beware the fetching rose in His name.
Yes. . . Yes, I praise and offer thanks for
His art and crafts weaving rainbows
in seasonal displays of bud and bloom
in my rich backyard.
Where the squirrels chatter
and the beetles bury,
the mantis prays
and the crow caws
just a little joy.
I have a big backyard
that I share with God’s finer creations.
Objects of rare and ardent beauty
lent to me to tend and till.
Oh so good to grab the earth
and pack the earthworm’s mud,
to be His gardens keeper.
So I say, all cheer the fancy daffodils,
regard the much maligned dandelion
and beware the fetching rose in His name.
Yes. . . Yes, I praise and offer thanks for
His art and crafts weaving rainbows
in seasonal displays of bud and bloom
in my rich backyard.
Where the squirrels chatter
and the beetles bury,
the mantis prays
and the crow caws
just a little joy.
jeanne rené 2/04
***
Reverence
Can it be my heart beats content
With trowel in hand,
Black till beneath my nails?
This pleasure known completely,
To dig the glory of our mother earth,
And mold by my hand a ready hollow
Laden with her sustenance.
With reverence understood,
I press a seed deep into her bosom,
And sing praise to her creations manifest.
An afternoon to plow my simple Eden
To beckon the angels daffodil and marigold,
Contemplating the promise of their hue.
This mellowed heart skips a beat when
Peeks the upstart green, one brave sprig
Who rises to the arms of the rolling seasons
and begs a kiss of the returning sun.
Yes, charmed it seems
This smile awash my grateful lips,
As I knee to ask the earthworm
Show me his full breadth
Lain across my open hands,
So that I may marvel at his beauty
And give thanks for our brotherhood.
Can it be my heart beats content
With trowel in hand,
Black till beneath my nails?
This pleasure known completely,
To dig the glory of our mother earth,
And mold by my hand a ready hollow
Laden with her sustenance.
With reverence understood,
I press a seed deep into her bosom,
And sing praise to her creations manifest.
An afternoon to plow my simple Eden
To beckon the angels daffodil and marigold,
Contemplating the promise of their hue.
This mellowed heart skips a beat when
Peeks the upstart green, one brave sprig
Who rises to the arms of the rolling seasons
and begs a kiss of the returning sun.
Yes, charmed it seems
This smile awash my grateful lips,
As I knee to ask the earthworm
Show me his full breadth
Lain across my open hands,
So that I may marvel at his beauty
And give thanks for our brotherhood.
jeanne rené 2/05
***
The Prizefighter’s Garden
Under his arbor ~
Plump passionate
Fuchsia bells spill
Moss painted terracotta swaying
Pushed by butterflies
In heavy hands
He’d take my face to their flesh
To dream sweetness
The grace of the flower
The grace of the man
Here beat the heart along with time
Papa walked me round his garden
In stages of my bloom
In his arms ~
To the loquat’s
Dusty fruit
Breaking its amber meat
For my anxious fingers to my lips
Spitting seeds into the fish fountain
Strolling me over the flagstones
From bud to blossom
Laughter lifts his heavy brows
And monster bee
Hides me in the warmth of his neck
Until he sets me down
With well picked mums
With his hand ~
Papa walks me round his garden
To the swoon of the gardenias white
A skip ahead and turn around
Twirling sour grass on the tip of my tongue
Every Sunday to the rose path
Near the window sill
Sauces stewing for the evening meal
Blend with beauties bittersweet
Papa hums the old man river
Of life
Of love
And in my hands four quarters fold
Behind my ear a sprig of thyme
By his side ~
Papa walks me round his garden
Slow in the evening
Sweet song of elder days
Hushed in the beauty of the peony
Who needs reveal its secrets before the fade
By the fish fountain as the wicker rocks
He whispers now in harmony with the breeze
Of every cut and bruise held in his glove
To say I’ve been
You will be
Time to listen
Under the shade of the cherry tree
~And
The stray leaf that falls against my cheek today
Perhaps his kiss
jeanne rené 4/04.........for Papa, who taught me the joy of gardening.
***
Love Song for September
September sits upon the gates,
holding hostage summer’s still, sultry shadow
under arms of evergreens, and lazy old dogs
who have forgotten how to bark at strangers
She waits with wayward affection outside our fences,
puffing little whispers through knot holes
and stirring the hues of dreamy deciduous,
awakening the brilliance of autumn’s brush
And so ….
September winks at me,
As I sit beneath umbrella’s shade.
I hear her impatient rustle rush up against the window pane
and watch her toe-tapping in little gusts across the dust.
She teases with the sweet scent of rain
old dog and I, languishing in lazy inhalations,
as we keep company in weary expectation.
Leaving only the thought of her cool fingertip
pressed against my lips,
she perches once again on the season’s threshold
and recites her calendar, in voice welcomed by me.
“September!” I call. “Let summer slip between
your days. Come kiss me with wilted rose petals.
Love me ‘neath a blanket of yellowing leaves.”
jeanne rené 08.07
