June Morning at Calamar

​

And the green is of trees and leaves

and grass and weeds

and yellow undersides that tease

Whispering its softly, lulling breeze

 

And the lilt and chirp and Mozart songs

of birds who soar

And swoop in blue and white and black and yellow

Cruising red in wise symphonic splendor

 

And the grey smooth slate of chunky ends

And rust embedded corners lying next to next

And end to end, on bottom, on top

Curving, sliding, arranged in studied disarray

 

And the two foot weed so dark

And fuzzy, droopy one leaf wonder nodding

And swaying, proudly defying, pushing forth

Saggy, upside down purple, covert blossoms

 

And the worn out table staid and square

And stolidly sitting in wood-like wonder

And reposing in vague uneasiness

Scarred tribute waning, fading in relief

 

And the Jessie dog lies panting, panting

And pink tongue hanging, hoping

And shade insufficient under boat dog house

Wishing for cool, wood warped table shade

 

And the woodpecker rat-a-tat-tats

and drums and bangs and hammers his native beat

And bores in undisguised tenacity

Slamming the house in drilling, pounding holes

 

And the black taut fly of green iridescent cape

And spinning, buzzing, racing intentions

And droning, circling, suggesting, landing,

Hoping for skin and sweat, not swat

 

And the cottage quaint and faintly smoky

And sleepy cool and green alone there

Alive with moist and showy ferns

Winding cobbled path tiptoeing to forgotten door

 

And the sting of friendless words

And the memory of laughless conversation

And the wonder of nature’s backyard comfort

Soothing, smoothing wrinkled emotions