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

A book of poems about fungi, mushrooms.

One wild mushroom is named Angel’s Wings, pure white and shell shaped.
This new book is poems dwelling on the wonder and surprise of so many kinds of mushrooms
that are found in the woods. Peretti watercolors on both covers; ink illustrations inside.
Find this book in the “Bookstore” of http://www.blurb.com

Colors

When we think of colors, just as colors,
we think confusion for they overwhelm
in their array, bouncing off the back of the eye
in their clothing of hues. I wanted red,
but was told red is too something—
too vivid, too bright, running too much
like blood. So I turned to yellow, since
I admire tangy lemons, and even dirtied gold
of late sunflowers, droopy in their hangovers.

Mixing them with water, in varying degrees
of course, thins the primaries into new
shades, the middles, the pales, the pinks
and baby blue. Oh yes, blues, but not
that slow poignant music of lost love;
the midnights, the cornflowers, the jay,
and the bay at midday when the sun
tells the sky to be on the water.

And swirling them together with
a paintbrush is the most fun, inventing
purple, orange, rose, teal and muddy
brown, the color we carefully avoid,
that lowdown earthy color, which reminds
us of grimy work and life’s clutter—
the contempt, the unredeemable,
unplanned, muddled life, jealousy,
and all the colorless days.