sometimes quite sandy, sometimes the clay
we inherit

black loam’s best for farming
excessive acid or alkali
impose their toll
compacted soil simply won’t breathe
my Lady of Potting
explains

“organic matter,” she says, meaning compost
and manure, especially. “it needs to be fed”

to say nothing of her disdain for “dead dirt”

so I stop to admire earthworms
flourishing in healthy soil

air appears in many natures
especially when it breathes
inspiration. expiration. a circle of life
a tornado, a cooling, a withdrawal into nothing
dry lines of laundry. clear a picnic table
swirl smoke from an open blaze. snuff burning matches
lift a kite. lift an airplane. lift birds
and countless insects. sometimes paper
sometimes squirrels. ripple the waters
ripple the flags. the prayer flags, especially
burn with heat. freeze with ice

water appears in many natures
sometimes sweet. sometimes salty
sometimes running. sometimes still
fresh or brackish. a cloud, a storm, a gentle rain
a stream, a pond, a cavernous pool, an ocean

rock appears in many natures
sometimes quartz-infused. sometimes basaltic
limestone’s favored for buildings
granite, for headstones and curbstones
coal fuels industry. ore refines into metal
gemstones become mysterious in their clarity
mountains tear into the wind. shape the rain

some qualities are visible. many are not
they mix together in thousands of ways
look at the horizon, look at the ground
landscapes emerge apart from map-making

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

greens

plant and weed     beside the kitchen     and
the forerunner of a fern bed     behind lilacs

on the swampy side     ignore omens     asking

the real question

if you’ll ever cry      Where are we going?
“it’s a big mistake”     Going     where?

my earth sinks / would always sink     if

it weren’t for stones     floating to the surface

each winter

land bridge jeopardy

cruel ground

stone soup     rather than potato     I intended
to tame     with compost, yes      and worming

so it was     holes in dirt     with next year’s
garden already planned out     she’s ready
to hear    I’ve never been fond of mowing
a lawn     but take to composting anyway

digging in

royally singing     in praise of red wigglers

like a man

so truly      the Cadillac

on my daily
commute

extending the scale      new construction
along all his options     have me wondering
how the routes would be     by the time
I retire

what will be planted     where forest was

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

in the end, we miss the freezing rain
that becomes fog in treetops on my commute
over melting snow

still achy from gardening
so what do I know?
a touch of lime oil in my morning coffee

green swags
my windows

watch my back and sides
spasms
all that digging

a full month of April showers compresses
into thirty-six hours Monday and Tuesday
welcome relief, but

uproot a hundred stealth maples
and a squirrel
every day
this time of year

the garden looks great, so luxurious to have cut flowers indoors
a second sprig of laurel in my lair
against the deep velvet of Siberian iris
now we’re sinking to detail …

a bucket of strawberries, to the office

too much rain and the sump pump kicks in
a downpour leading to rare July flood warnings across the state

our Lady of Pink Flamingoes keeps taunting
“Have you been flocked?”

such a strange summer
cold, wet July days
rain and thunderstorms forecast
into next week, without break

my Lady of Coriander had the stove going three days

by Bastille Day, still no time in the 90s
and only a few in the upper 80s

where’s it going, our summer of plastic flamingos?

or the alternative, of very humid, stale air –
80 Fahrenheit, 80 percent humidity –
can’t move much
despite intentions

some sun, some rain
including brief downpours

the continuing decay

I mow the lawn, saturate a T-shirt in sweat
of course, it’s extreme high tide at the beach

1 a.m., bedroom windows open

thinking of the past
I smell a skunk
crossing the darkness
below me

into a lazy day, mostly on the deck

frozen daquiris, relief from 90-plus heat/humidity

the first time in five years

profusion of glorious mock orange
in and over the kitchen garden hedge
just because I watch the stars
doesn’t mean I trust them

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