You never know what we'll churn up in cleaning a stall
one daughter’s been sitting a California king snake
(fellow dad Eric’s quite impressed)
a friend’s rabbit, quite a thumper
“We thought books were falling from the shelves”
when the daughter babysat, and so the kids slept in the big bed
and I snoozed off in the loft
Poem copyright 2016 by Jnana Hodson
For more, click here.
squirrels thrive, after all, largely solo
apart from the mating chase or bout
though they’ll sleep six or seven together yet
repeated delays that autumn allowed little rest
and precluded burying nuts as well as his lady’s
daffodil and iris bulbs et cetera packed away
what they could, hoping they could cobble a nest
* * *
or any of the time-bombs
ticking away
among the not-so-everyday matters
* * *
you think you’re settled, but you’re not
in any of the different schools of thought
* * *
even on a clouded night, the stars incant
“Look where you are, in your small space”
Poem copyright 2015 by Jnana Hodson
To read the full set of squirrelly poems, click here.
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.
the herd, impatient
lumpen clouds, hooves in the mud
demand milking at dawn and sunset
to have a farm somewhere in the background
to pull into its lane, not just grain or hay
but livestock, with sweaty black nostrils
and broad tongues, turning toward the dog
how could anyone leave this
plaintiff, bellowing
in a stream of cheese and butter
he’s forgotten how to drive a tractor
and has never plowed, anyway
his grandpa quit this for the city
Poem copyright 2016 by Jnana Hodson
To see the full set of Home Maintenance poems, click here.
in the interim he would have to save the barn
from immanent collapse and therein create
a suite for his future mother-in-law so he helped
the carpenter jack up the backside a half-foot
to replace rotten sill and sketched out plans tracked down
a building permit suspended new doors and windows
learned to use a variable-speed screwdriver far from expertly
hung drywall painted walls and floors laid vinyl flooring
and then while waiting for plumbers to finish that job
it was a honeymoon ferry trip to Mohegan Island
as well as a traipse along autumnal Popham Beach
as he formally became oh so trustingly hers
as if any of this was in any way near finished
Poem copyright 2015 by Jnana Hodson
To read the full set of squirrelly poems, 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.
A half-moon hangs in my cupboard
like the letter D.
Askew in silvery desire,
it becomes an amber barley draught,
bowl of orange tea,
solitary untouched breast
or ancestral skull
while an old yellow watchdog prowls
its nocturnal trail to the rooster.
Poem copyright 2015 by Jnana Hodson
To see the full Green Repose collection, click here.
already the goldfinches are losing their bright yellow,
shifting over to their “traveling clothes” …
cardinal flower still scarlet … the sunflowers nearly past …
will we have any pumpkins in this crazy year?
blue jays as monkey birds squawking
a stream of crows, maybe a hundred, all headed south
(the ten thousand roosting together in a cemetery, how spooky)
admiring the white gull against blue sky
and the black band on its wing
four white droplets fall away and vanish
never seen that before!
today, two large hawks, soaring
now-dun finches at the feeder
Poem copyright 2016 by Jnana Hodson
For more, click here.
when the snake that would have entered the burrow
had become a clothes line, pinned with nursing pups
nonetheless, when it came to his own yapping brood,
he was as territorial as any other male
running the risk of trying to span too much
when it came down to choosing sides,
he found no compassion for the frenzy
leaping from the bay window and
scurrying on the arm of his astonished roofer
no warmth, either, for overnight gnawing
through pristine crown molding
confronted by his rivals’ succeeding wave
weaned every three or four months,
who did he think he was, trying to command
shipshape precision in this collision?
it was only natural, then, his attempts
to shield his own from foul heavens
should invoke clownish tragedy or cannibalistic humor
just why would he assume in this life or that
anything was holding above their heads?
the roof is a bridge
between trees
* * *
squirrels would be snipers
rather than muster in any militia
Poem copyright 2015 by Jnana Hodson
To read the full set of squirrelly poems, click here.
not by intent, exactly, when repairing rotten sill
and ripping away needless wires
strung overhead, but under the floor
at times, a two-man job, with banter
still, keep an eye open for the unanticipated byproduct
in this case, a jest
envisioning a beer and wine cellar under the kitchen
nothing fancy, but acknowledging
the homebrew art
and gratitude for a place to age bottles decently
as for the wine, a house rule price limit
imposed by a glutted market
in season, the bulkhead would open its wings
on the shaded grilling garden, to the north,
or its cavern of contemplation within
a place of solitude and spiders
Squirrel would frequent
Poem copyright 2016 by Jnana Hodson
To see the full set of Home Maintenance poems, click here.
