Orchards and orchids, the air is filled with contagious scents,
and the colorblind angels of dreams
with wings of red and green are fluttering
around aspiring nectar.
Spring fish are hopping, sparrows are pecking at the carpet,
and I don’t mind that my mailbox is filled with ashes.
It’s mother nature. But if I poetize about her,
that will be me, and nothing to do with her.
I belong to nature, like the Enola Gay, like Teller,
and in her wilderscape,
I might search for peace or even seek salvation,
yet it’s just my eyes, the heart that she created.
She isn’t cruel or harsh, not bountiful or kind,
our thoughts of her are human illusions.
Her ways are foreign,
unflinching
and inevitable,
no less and nothing more.
Today I’ll vacuum out the postal ashes with
my dustbuster™, and if it happens that I
learn anything,
it will be to know that I’ve
learned nothing at all.
about
Springtime in the land of the platypus, the anthropocene everywhere.
Can you tell a green field from a cold steel rail? (Pink Floyd, Wish You Were Here.) Not without my glasses on.
artwork
Anthropocenia, with some close-ups below—computer predictions of possible planetary futures. I don’t like the look of any of them. As soon as I’ve finished burning the newspaper, I’m going to find another computer that makes more agreeable predictions.
“aspiring nectar” is a lovely image. It isn’t easy to write good seasonal poems without stumbling on the well worn, cliche tropes, but you’ve done a fine job here.
Thank you, Daniel. And I’m hoping dustbuster will pay me for the product placement. Ha ha, as if anyone would pay me :).
i know that feeling Steve. maybe blackmailing them might be in order. how or for what i will leave to your discretion.
I did have a dustbuster once, but I don’t know any secrets, about anything really. Maybe advertising copy? “To pass muster, you must have the ‘buster,” with an abstract interpretation of their product :).
Bank the compliments Steve. They’ll summer the heart, even if the belly is still in winter.
Sweet turn of phrase, Frank. I hope so. The climate turns to spring, and I’m thinking of climate change and planetary disaster. That’s today, maybe not tomorrow … reading Michael Dransfield (Collected Poems) probably isn’t helping me, but I love his stuff :).
Don’t know Dransfield, Steve. I’ll watch out for him.
F~
I feel refreshed. The loosening of the brain. Poem therapy.
Great. I think you get it reading and writing as well, and it’s so inexpensive compared to the other kind :).
But ‘the world is your playground’ says the airline company I won’t name – sigh.
Change ‘is’ to ‘was once’ and I’m good. If we need a new playground, pretty sure an Airbus isn’t going to cut it.
As a hobby I grow orchids. You had me with the first line – “Orchards and orchids, the air is filled with contagious scents.”
When in bllom they can be mesmerizing as was your poem. Nicely written …
Isadora 😎
Thanks, Isadora. I read a bit of poetry, on screen and paper, and it’s strange how often it happens–“Oh, I was just thinking about that” or “Gee, I just saw a dragon fly over”. Okay, maybe not dragons through the day, they only fly at night :). Shapes in clouds I suppose, but sometimes it’s so specific, Steve.
😎
Love your poem and artwork; particularly enthralled by your answer to Pink Floyd!
Glad you enjoyed. You know, just the facts :). I particularly like Audrey Assad’s version.
So beautiful!
Thanks. It came out less apocalyptic than I imagined it would :).
There’s some Socrates knowledge in there, ain’t it? 😀
Yeah, exactly. I think he was rational and logical, and thought emotions, beauty, desires could stand in the way of truth. If we want to save the world we can’t be deceived about how nature is, the way the science of nature works.
But the other side of the coin is that we’re human and our truth isn’t Mr Spock’s
. If we don’t understand that about ourselves and others, there are major pitfalls.