The Word Garden

we entered the
garden where each
bud and bloom
was tendered and
formed by the
careful hand of
a master unable
to part with
his beloved child

now they gather
worn faded and
torn in a shabby
shed on a
sagging shelf
leaning one against
other faded blooms
withering in a
dustbin of antiquity

Heat

I’ve pitched hay
half-mad with
chaff stuck between creases
and under sleeves

picked blackberries through
thorns hanging on
barbed wire fences
bordering steamy meadows
seething with chiggers and mosquitoes

nailed sub-roof
three stories up
swinging a hammer
side by side with convicts
from the state farm

pulled slats of steamed-
dried wood from the
the bin of a veneer dryer
through merciless mind-numbed
endless summer days
counting down the redundant hours
in the trance of 103 degrees

but at this age
the stultifying oppressive
sodden days are an affront
to patience and endurance
as leaves slowly wilt and coil
in the boiling inferno choking
life from fragile tissue
enduring the hell of transient existence

Oath

touch gently
speak softly
hold closely
know silence
seek solace
find peace
in the
rhythm of
ordinary things

show kindness
give generously
live freely
love openly
live among
those you
know and
seek what
defines you

know truth
despise lies
be supple
as grass
rough as
bark stand
sturdy tall
and strong

find humor
in serious
things and
joy in
simple things

know humility
act sincerely
speak truthfully
and kindly
accept what
you do
not know

behold mystery
unfold at
fingertip in
the stilled
motion of
light on
cusp of
incoming evening

Two

Life --
the whole
daft enterprise
subject to
the wiles
of chance --

who will care
for thee when
there is no
more of me