Bear Care

With all the turmoil
in the news each morn,
I turn to a bear
who doesn’t care.

Many in Europe
now lean to the right,
North Korea may do
blah, blah, blah,
lots in DC are falling
from great heights,

but I turn to a silly bear
who doesn’t care.

Every morning
I check the zoo cam
to find my panda friend
leading his life,
trotting about
and climbing there,

thankfully,
I can turn to this bear
who doesn’t care.

Fragrance

sweet tart orange—
tinges of this taste
embed a fragrance

the old mock orange
vines over a fence
in gentle greeting

 

At old house in Lombard, IL

Because

Because of what happened
this garden is my refuge,
this silence amongst purple coleus
trailing inquisitive vinca vines.

I hear not one opinion
uttered from the plants,
just their perky faces toward morning light,
their spines straight with innocence
and disregard for my life,

or possibly standing tall
to demonstrate graceful endurance.
Only their lives matter—being God’s
earthly ambassadors, holding
no one accountable for silliness.

Even the overgrown fern
showers delight from its crowded
nest of green fronds,
drooping, bowing to reality.

Time, I say.
Time they tell me is needed
for strides of growth. Time and rain—
rain from dark clouds pouring
into patient soil, rearing
the pointed caladium leaves of fiery red
and starlight of white impatiens’ flowers.

My Patio in August