My Irritations, Aggravations and Inspirations

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November 20, 2011 “frost”

“frost”

_

rooftop and fence

fodder shocks and haystacks

well house and chicken coop

-

a weathered barn,

the front half of a broke down red tractor

lolling crookedly from its shadowy maw

-

a rusted out old truck

held fast in its place by

tangled generations of

dormant honeysuckle vines

and a concertina of blackberry thorns

-

wintering grass like a carpet

gently rolling down to a Sycamore tree

its whitewashed medusan limbs

stark against an orange-tinted azure sky

-

all lay frozen

 beneath a thick blanket

of sparkling crystalline frost

a landscape in etched glass

-

cold morning breaks silent and still

save for the slow swirl of the grayish river

slipping stiffly between its frosted banks

releasing whispering white ghosts of fog

to lightly dance into the frigid air

-

tlh 11/19/11

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

November 13, 2011 ” old mountains”

“old mountains”

 *

the mountains of my home are old

as old as the earth

aged hard faces wearing smooth

with crooked spines and withered fingers

no longer reaching toward heaven

but falling back toward hell

deconstructing

shedding majesty for maturity

strength for sagacity

tumbling rivers for trickling streams

granite heights for trembling stones

misty memories lost in gathering fog

carried away by soft breezes

whispering gently in my ears

reminding me of old mountains

and relentless time

tlh 11/13/11

October 21, 2011 “autumn rain”

“autumn rain”

trees under an autumn rain

flowing out from a foggy mountain

in pleated ridges and hollows

shedding their rusting leaves

like flecks of burnt orange and gold

copper toned reflections of the past

and places I remember

when the sun shone bright in a careless blue sky

above the verdant summer of life

when living was easy under the shade of trees

that were there long before my birth

and will remain

long after the last rusting leaf is shed

to another autumn rain

©tlh 10/21/11

photo by tlh

September 17, 2011 “a thought on clouds”

a thought on clouds”

*

clouds

crowded upon the firmament

of an angry sky

a herd of fat gray beasts

rank upon rank

vying for position

dark and dismal

somber and severe

sagging, heavy bellies

pregnant with water of life

travailing in labor

giving birth to a deluge…

precious rain is born unto the earth

some from violent storms

some from peaceful showers

some for rivers and the sea

some for flowers and fields

some for floods

some for the thirsty

or puddles or birdbaths

some to wash a dusty traveler

or blood from a battlefield

or tears

some to dance or sing

or make love in

some for rainbows

and snowmen

some to tickle the faces of fascinated children

then out comes the sun

and all return whence they came

to again become

clouds

 ©tlh 9/17/2011

September 10, 2011 “transition”

“transition”

arid summer rides

parched whirlwinds into September

as clouds of dusty red clay settle

under a cloudless sky

on yellowed tobacco leaves sweltering

in thirsty furrows of farmers’ fields

upon the backs of black cattle sweating

belly deep in a muddy pond

their wet black tails swishing

swatting at swarms of harrowing flies

the cavalier sun sailing

across the clear blue sea above

his infernal eye blazing

a golden path for autumn

©tlh 9/10/2011

August 28, 2011 “a dozen nails in a coffin”

 

“a dozen nails in a coffin”

hope

stolen by indifference

happiness

forfeited to gratification

truth

to ambiguity

kindness

to avarice

possibilities

given to doubt

decision

to ambivalence

knowledge

sacrificed for convenience

triumphs

swallowed by fear

tomorrows

bartered by yesterdays

love

lost in pride

life

exchanged for existence

somethingness

faded to nothingness

nothingness

is death

©tlh 8/28/11

August 14, 2011 “south of summer”

“south of summer”

 

skulking stray dog days

loitering in the back yard of summer

keeping autumn at bay on the porch

hold a slippery sweaty grip on the south

 

withered green leaves

wrinkled damp clothes

hang from limbs of thirsty trees and people

like limp dishrags boiling

 

in the oily evening heat

beneath tall condescending columns

of rainless clouds climbing

up a pale sky roiling

 

in shades of pink

east of the setting sun

over the sweltering horizon

an August moon casts his milky gaze

 

on the sloomy glow of lightening bugs

slow dancing to the jar fly’s gravelly whirr

and the tinkling of ice in glasses of tea

sweet relief in a sultry gloaming haze

 

©tlh 8/14/11

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

August 5, 2011 “fly on the wall”

“fly on the wall”

*

As I was having dinner tonight,

near the table where I sat

I saw an unsettling sight.

On the wall alit a house fly

wearing a cowboy hat.

*

The hat was brown fur felt and quite fine,

but the fly all in all was droll…

for it’s John B. Stetson when you go out to dine.

Any cowboy or fly worth a damn

wouldn’t be caught dead in a Resistol!

©tlh 8/5/11

August 3, 2011 “on watching an August moonset”

August 3, 2011 “on watching an August moonset”

*


The yellow fingernail of a crescent moon

scratches down the spine of a sultry purple sky

towards midnight.

*


©tlh 8/2/11

August 2, 2011 “wildflower”

August 2, 2011 “wildflower”

~~~~~~~~~~~

a wildflower in a rose garden grows

on a golden ribbon of sunshine

neath the shadows

by roots and black earth

beyond the white teeth of smiling wickets

out of reach

hidden from the pruning hands of a jealous gardener

behind the painted points of patrolling pickets

marching in rigid formation

a careful syncopation of shadow and light

shadow and light

guarding the beloved roses

from eyers eying and spyers spying

admirers admiring roses

~

the gardener swells with pride

at the blossoms blooming wide

filling the air with a fragrance of roses

seducing the noses

of passing passersby

gazing with enamored eye

at the roses

all the beautiful roses

~

but the wildflower

the tiny wildflower stands alone

perfectly petaled

pale purple little wildflower

singular beauty among beauties

as lovely in the mountain

as by the shore of the sea

or in the cleft of a rock

upon a grassy lea

~

the wildflower

needs not the nurturing hand of the gardener

nor the garden’s fertile soil

no trimming or clipping

no trellis to climb

or picket guard

or worrisome toil of any kind

~

 the wildflower goes and grows where it will

how it will as it pleases for it pleases

to grow and its beauty to show

in a rose garden

©tlh 8/2/11


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