Perfection

June evening 2 2013

I don’t believe
in perfection-
the tiniest petal
still retains a flaw-
a fissure,
a blemish,
the tracks of sun and rain.
Its heart
longing for completeness,
a closure,
a fullness
of perfect simplicity.

The meadow in late spring
filled with bright white daisies,
lavender sweet peas
pale pink honeysuckle-
a confluence of imperfect
perfection.

The End of May

May morning

The months spilled, rushing down to summer
with the rain,
last falling in the dark morning,
now the clear blue of a perfect afternoon sky

How can it be that things end without thought,
just tossed as carelessly
as petals in the warm breeze?

Will you remember this May?
The May of thunder and consequences
when all that could have been
was carelessly left to wash away
in the cold night rain.

The sun is shining now
and June is already here,
just waiting in the edge of the wood,
tiptoeing across the runoff
of the hard May rains.

lullabies of rain

Mists envelope the dark roads
across the Ozarks ridge tonight,
where the moisture hangs heavy in the treetops.

We open the windows to the thick rain drenched air-
our cotton sheets feel damp
and cool,
the scent of mists and clouds fill the room.

Sounds carry across the water on nights like this,
snatches of laughter and song,
distant galaxies beyond the cove.

We listen-
lulled into slumber by the sounds of night
and the lullabies of rain
and small trilling frogs.

2 am

Golden moonlight  Jan 2014

Waking to the sound,
I know we are being robbed again.

Grabbing the flashlight, I race down the stairs
and onto the porch.
Shining the light into the night,
3 pairs of backlit red eyes
stare at me from the birdfeeder.

Damn raccoons!

2am masked marauders
stuffing their smiling mouths with all my sunflower seed.
They chitter and hiss as I clap my hands,
shooing them back into the waiting woods.

I switch off the light-
the dark enfolds me.

Its warm.

A still night with the cool air rising from the lake.

I can smell the water
and hear the stars sighing.

Closing the door,
I walk up the stairs
to the waiting warmth of a snoring husband
and the small dog nestled between us.

sturm and drang

How can stillness move so fast
or the speed of a thing
retain its calm center?
I stand,
still as a held breath,
my body flying at 800 miles per hour
and yet the surface of the coffee in my mug
shows not a ripple.

Shadows of your thoughts
darken the room even before you enter it-
pushing all light away from you
or possibly
the gravitational force of your temper
sucks it in like the black holes
created in the brilliant light of an exploding star.

All this sturm and drang.

Its just space and time,
the universal quandary of quantum physics
of how to get along.