two horny squirrels on a tree

I hate cartoon slapstick … as for real actors …

The Dead See Squirrels

who know nothing of the next state nor the globe
their world branches endlessly, effortlessly
and is anything but round

the thistle feeder found in one of our coolers … ah! the safe place!

a girl named Bambi
sounds like a dear
or at least, a little fun

Snow White
lighting
a cigarette

a hummingbird in our herb garden
enough to make me think my sighting over the barn
was a goldfinch, but can they – do they – HOVER?

the fact our yard’s so full of wildlife pleases me
as long as the squirrel population’s held in check
allowing us a bumper crop of pumpkins and
self-seeded sunflowers

with binoculars from the deck, a goldfinch in a sunflower bloom
only to discover two more feasting in the same cluster
when one breaks away, she initially thinks the flower is taking flight

remove the pea vines and the cosmos and cabbage breathe a bit more

with the binoculars again, watching incredibly high gulls
moving east-west
and then, all alone, the unmistakable bald eagle
sailing south, not a single flap
to be lost to a cloud and then sun glare

how is it the eagle soared southward
while the gulls kept going east-west
before and after?
or did the eagle simply Trim Sails somehow
in the upper wind?

May, a profusion of birdsong before sunrise
September, a profusion of cricket fiddling after sunset
incessant, rapturous chorus

September, why so few birds singing?
May, why so little fiddling?

migrating geese sound like a squeaky floor

suet, downy woodpeckers tweet for each bite

in the pile of garbage bags, rustling
a skunk determined to rip it open by the back door
the colors reversed – a black stripe on a white body

Poem copyright 2016 by Jnana Hodson
For more, click here.

– dyes, ornamentation
black-and-white is focused defiance.

let’s be honest – these are weedy gardens
even with the black plastic film protection
or the arbor with ferns now

I have a woman without freckles
she doesn’t preen
she’s all business
she’s sexy as all hell

there are no wild boars here

“let’s go bag a deer”
“and then what?”
“we’ll make candles”

* * *

parables?
you’ll never understand
without practice

Poem copyright 2016 by Jnana Hodson
For more, click here.

slugs thrive, and I’m back in Seattle, except
that here, broccoli, cucumbers, zucchini, and peppers
arrive in waves

and our woodworker-electrician and I tackle the barn renovation
in earnest

still, in a few breaks, I cross the line into Maine
sometimes with my Lady of Children’s Television
leaping rapturously in big surf
and sometimes with the afternoon all to myself
and once with the whole family
only to discover I’ve packed No 4 sunscreen
rather than No 15
(as a serious burns will demonstrate)

in all of this matter of burrows and burrowing
in the earth, in the foliage, at the beach

while fully resolving to keep the wedding simple
my Lady of Parsley and Sage delves deep into planning
what has already become too complicated for my taste
(“what do you mean, you don’t want a potluck?”)
and we meet with an Oversight Committee

in Portsmouth Harbor the family tours a Viking ship
on its way from Iceland to Manhattan
and the following week, a full-size Theodore Tugboat
with rolling eyes and all, as any kid watching PBS could explain

all the while, life itself feels submerged in Limbo
as absconded as our plumbers

Poem copyright 2016 by Jnana Hodson
For more, click here.

 

each springtime and summer
we go our rounds, grubbing out

pervasive maple sprouts, glistening slugs
the evil elegance of bindweed

to open way
for what flowers or what bears would harvest

each repetition its own mixture
of success and disappointment

* * *

as my Lady of the Fabric Bins explains
the palette of the tongue

its savory and sweet
variations of wine tannin or bite

torches in our smoking garden twilight
with charcoal, glowing and ready

Poem copyright 2016 by Jnana Hodson
For more, click here.