tall grass song

my fingers crush spikelets 

of big bluestem 

copper red in fall and I wonder 

what is in my bones that seeks  to manipulate 

this nature 

with the cry of blue jay in my ears 

and tiny chorus frog at my feet 

the dry indents of hardy grass seeds 

linger on my skin 

long after the wind has picked up the dust

on the funeral of Elizabeth II

it’s not really the long processional 

nor the bagpipe’s lament

it’s not really the resplendent cathedral

nor the flag-draped lead-lined coffin

it’s not really the red robed men

nor the accented readings

it’s actually the boys choir 

    voices pure 

    rising into ether 

    resonating off arches 

harmonies spinning overtones 

    linking to our hearts 

    and sending her soul home 

 

fall feelings

grass still lushes on the lawn 

drinking summer’s rains 

and yet leaves begin to litter 

yellow evidence of the chill of September 

and we bring in tomatoes 

ripe on dying vines 

and potatoes buried 

beneath stalks of sticks 

and we bid farewell to 

long warm evenings of sun 

skin contracting 

to brave the cold that’s coming 

so how long yet can we lush 

as time moves on unhindered 

by dug-in heels

Tall Tall Trees at Snowberry (Folk Fest '22 poem #5)

July sun drenches heat at snowberry field 

beard and banjo 

but no trees 

just wires and foot pedals and speakers 

like a scientist experimenting sounds together 

rhythms so rooted 

harmony so heightened 

lyrics branched out 

melodies green leaves so intricate 

this music reaching for the sun