Almost Autumn

For Poets United, Poetry Pantry. The birds are vanishing from the skies.

Almost Autumn
“Birds were created to record everything. They were not designed just to be beautiful jewels in the sky, but to serve as the eyes of heaven.” ― Suzy Kassem, Rise Up and Salute the Sun: The Writings of Suzy Kassem

For the first time since April
the morning was cool.
The autumnal equinox swings through the heavens.
Wind rustles through the dried leaves
on the cornstalks,
crickets sing their tenor songs,
the bees sleepily droning.
But,
where was the sound of birds?
Had they all slipped into the southward migration?
Mast is heavy in the woods –
gonna be a hard winter.
But,
no sound of cardinals or sparrows,
no twitting of finches.
I listened, hearing only the sound
of the blood in my body,
the beating of my heart.
But,
no birds.
Where have the birds gone?

Roll On

For Carrie’s Sunday Muse #74

Roll On
“Time is like a river…” – Stephen King, ‘Salem’s Lot

the gull knows.
the gull knows the river flows on forever
from the drops of rain to the mighty ocean.
the old man plays his organ
connected by a long heavy duty electrical cord
and he plays for himself.
he sings,
roll on mighty river, roll on.
the gull flaps its wings
and gives a raucous caw.
it likes to sing along.
roll on mighty river,
roll on.

Family Kitchen

For Sherry’s prompt at Toads, Grandma’s Kitchen. I apologize for the length of this. Usually my entries are brief and to the point. But as far as food and cooking are concerned, well…

Haibun: Family Kitchen
“The kitchen is the heart of every home, for the most part. It evokes memories of your family history.” –
Debi Mazar

There was no such thing as “grandma’s kitchen”. There was simply, the kitchen. When my grandmother’s grandfather built the house, it was in the days when families lived together, multi-generational, early Victorian. We all gathered there – to eat or to take turns making meals, do homework, play cards. Vegetables from the garden were canned, jams and jellies made. We all pitched in. I remember making a meal of pancakes and bacon when I was six, standing on a chair so I could reach the stove burners. Mistakes were “hidden” in the bellies of our dogs and cats. I also stood on a chair to “help” whoever was making the meal for the night – usually my grandmother or father, sometimes my mother or grandfather. I had primo knife skills by the time I was seven.

I learned everything about what I know about food and cooking in that kitchen – and how to get along with other people in the kitchen and to stay out of other people’s way when they were preparing food or how to zip in and give a helping hand.

I also learned about poetry in that kitchen. While doing homework, my teenaged aunts would real aloud Shakespeare, Shelley, Yeats, Frost, Sandburg. It was in the kitchen that my harried grandmother went to our library and came back with my first love, the Collected Works of T.S.Eliot and handed to me to assuage my boredom as an 11 year old. The same copy permanently resides on my bedside table.
seasons change – food changes –
people change – the love remains-
memories continue

Haibun: Bee Vigliant

For the Midweek Motif over at Poets United – Vigilance

 

Haibun: Bee Vigilant
“The bee collects honey from flowers in such a way as to do the least damage or destruction to them, and he leaves them whole, undamaged and fresh, just as he found them.” – Saint Francis de Sales

I am being vigilant and keeping watch over my bees. There are still wild flowers about from which they can feed but, I am monitoring their hive and their comb pattern, getting ready for the cooler days of autumn and the cold days of winter. My bees are healthy and some of them are a bit drunk on early windfalls from fruit fruit trees and grape vines. Silly bees! Next month I will begin feeding them and preparing them for winter. I will be blocking off the hive to protect it from cold air and snow. Last year I only lost two bees and it was a harsh winter.

They still travel around the neighborhood and take nectar from a neighbor’s flowers or from the last blooms in the garden. I will begin collecting honey next month for personal use,  making sure I leave enough for them to feed from and weather the winter. A few jars of golden honey and some comb for me, a lot for them. I will leave fruit out along with dishes of sugar water to get them all fed and happy for the winter. I am allergic to bee stings. Go figure that I court death when I look after the bees. But without them, we would all die.
ever vigilant
I keep watch over the  bees –
they wait for spring

Apple Air

An American sentence for Sarah’s prompt at dVerse – waiting and anticipiation.  An American sentence is exactly 17 syllables and is a complete sentence. It was created by Allen Ginsberg because he couldn’t follow the rules for classic haiku.

Apple Air
“Autumn seemed to arrive suddenly that year. The morning of the first September was crisp and golden as an apple.”
― J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows

Waiting for the lovely tokens of autumn and the rich smell of apples.

 

 

The Duck Press

The Duck Press
“Maybe that’s enlightenment enough: to know that there is no final resting place of the mind, no moment of smug clarity. ”  Anthony Bourdain

Memories. I read today that his belongings are being auctioned off online. His artwork, his furniture, his kitchen paraphernalia, including his famous duck press. I will log on and see what I can afford and buy something.
Maybe even that duck press. I sit up in my tree, clutching my violin and letting the tears slide down my face. After all of this, they are selling his stuff. I close my eyes and remember. I begin to play my violin, weeping the whole time. After awhile, I climb down and leave. These memories were left here with the trees.

 

Sticky Ribs

An out of standard response to Izy’s Out of Standard Prompt – Living in a Fallout Shelter.  We had a fallout shelter when I was growing up.  It was a selling feature and was designed to house comfortably, six people.  By the time the house had sold when I was an adult, it had become a storage facility for apples and taters, canned foods, a groovy place to go and smoke dope.  An American sentence – complete sentence with exactly 17 syllables.  Created by Allen Ginsberg because for some reason, he couldn’t follow the rules for classic haiku.

Sticky Ribs
“I just love Chinese food. My favourite dish is number 27.”  Clement Attlee

One year alone in a shelter, I miss Chinese sticky  ribs the most.

 

Chinese red ribs

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