The Year of Clover Honey

The Last Really Good Shack - porch

It was the second spring in the old farmhouse,
you seeded the open meadow with red clover.
A common cover crop,
it did just that,
covering the slope
in luxurious rich deep green leaves,
topped by scarlet globes
of soft feathered blossoms.
Honeybees, intoxicated with
sweet perfume, staggered in the warm spring breeze,
humming their drunken songs
in sweet unison.

The bees song bewitched us-
a sirens song.
Mesmerized,
we walked across the meadow,
thigh high in clover,
waist deep in bees.
The hillside undulating,
shimmering with invisible wings.
The sound of a million bees
singing.
Their voices so deep,
it echoed in our bodies.
We held our hands out to feel the vortices of their wings.
We were carried in a wind
of wing song.

We were golden with pollen.

The honey was rich that year-
deep amber
and filled with the song of a million bees.

(revised 2020)

Tempus Fuget

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Tempus Fuget

Translating the ancient language of our long marriage-
Our vocabulary of years, memory and choices:
Love as verb
Cor ad cor loquitur…Heart speaks to heart
Love as noun
Amor vencet omnia…Love conquers all
But in the diagramming of that sentence is the lie-
Time, not love, is the conqueror
And our end is closer than our beginning.
Eheu fugaces labuntur anni
Alas the fleeting years slip by
In ictu oculi
In the blink of an eye….
Tempus fuget
time flies.

My Love is Like …or Metaphors be Damned

rosebud

My love is like a red, red nose
That drips in the month of May.
(Well, now that is not attractive.)

My love is like a green garden hose.
(What the heck!)

My love is like a man that hoes
the long, hard row
to Tipperary.
(Good grief, where did that come from?)

My love is like a Reb that rows-
(Well, he is from North Carolina but he hates the water.)

(For Heavens sake!)

My love is like a man that arose
To hoe the garden, row by row,
Cultivating the greenest spring,
To wreath the head of his May Queen
With rose on rose on rose on rose.

*** a bit of nonsense to lighten the mood, with a nod and a wink to Burns!

blessed be

Redbud

blessed be the hours of early morning
when the light seeps slowly across the water

blessed be that light
that fills the windows full open to the morning
breeze and the scent of resurrected green

blessed be that breeze
which scatters the blown petals
of dogwood and redbud trees
carpeting the garden path with bright confetti

blessed be those feet
whose boots track spent pink petals
across the just swept kitchen floor

blessed be that love
that fills this kitchen with heavens color
and sacred morning light

blessed be

Metaphor

love birds#5 (3)

Is it too trite
to write
that the river
is a
metaphor
for our love?
And to use the old saying that
‘You never step into the same river twice’?
Because it is
Just
Like
That.

Driving through the dark Ozarks night,
following the hollows along the river,
a young couple in our headlights-
wet, walking hand in hand,
coming up from a midnight swim.
Suddenly, I am transported.
I am that girl-
shy, bold, holding your hand,
feeling your wet skin for the first time,
the rush of the river,
the rush of the newness.

Then, I laugh and see myself
reflected in your laughing eyes
illuminated by the dashboard lights.
We drive towards home,
splashing in the river.

(revised 2020)

Song of Songs – There I Will Abide

love birds#5 (3)
I
And there I will abide.
Abide seems to be a word
filled with soft meaning
and deep intent.
I will abide
belong, rest, take comfort, dwell,
I will abide
withstand, endure, await, sojourn
accepting without hesitation
I will abide

II
My love is my abode.
His limbs pillars of fragrant cedar
To shield me in my rest.
His arms are oaks of sinew and might,
Silver is on his head,
Burnished and gleaming.
Sapphire are his eyes,
More beautiful than the morning sky.
His heart of precious stones
More valuable than the kings stores.
He calls my name
And I am safe.
My love is my love!
And there I will abide.

The Kitchen Song

love birds#5 (3)
The Kitchen Song

She loves him sweet and tender
She loves him with pies and cake
She loves him with buttery little biscuits
The kind she likes to bake.

She loves him good and hearty
She loves him with beef stew
She loves him with ribs and goulash
And rich bowls of thick burgoo.

She loves him hot and spicy
She loves him with red cayenne
She loves him with jalapeno peppers
And secret recipes from the Yucatan.

She loves him dark and steamy
She loves him with coffee and cream
She loves him with Earl Grey and Oolong
And toddies spiked with Jim Beam.

She loves him in so many ways
She loves him the best she can
She loves him sweet and good and hot,
Her sweet talkin’ everlovin’ man.

— This is an old poem written for Bob as a Valentine one year. Still one of my silliest and one of our favorites.