Author: Leo

  • greed

    Perhaps, I am too quick to call it Greed:
                            this yearning for an accumulation,
    this lust of Mine! self-gratification,
                            a trophy case crammed with coin, 
    heads (metaphorical and otherwise),
                            ivory trinkets carved of banned tusk,
    Likes, notches on the bedpost 
                            (that shows my age!) Firepower!
    The rich give, but not without accolades, 
                             plaques for display and….receipts.
    Nature demands self-interest 
                             if we are to survive, but studies show:
    the poor give more than the rich;
                              percentage wise, of course!
    (that could be Fake News)
                             One thing to me, another thing to you.
    What of a heart soothed by Riches lure
                              more than thanks of those in need?
    Perhaps, I am too quick to call it greed;
                              one thing to me, another thing to you.
    
    
  • Witness

    The leaves are gone.  Wind rejoices in
    Their leaving for their dance betrays;
    Painting hints of body on his shame.
    
    Shoulders cringe under iced breath
    ravaging this frigid, emptying street.
    Chimes to the right sing winds intent,
    
    To flee this memory, falling behind,
    To allow us to lie in a contrived bliss
    Like those wreaths on those graves.
    The leaves are gone.  Wind rejoiced in
    their leaving for their dance betrayed:
    painting hints of body on his shame.
    
    A witness of this carnage, he whirled
    in helplessness, sharing horrid chaos
    with us despite our hands over our ears.
    
    Shoulders cringe beneath iced-breath
    ravaging this frigid, manicured yard.
    Chimes to the right sing winds intent
    
    to flee this memory, fall far away,
    to lie in a contrived complacency like
    these plastic wreaths on these graves.	
    
    
  • Bobcat On The Cartercay

     

    Stock photo
    Wild_BobcatThis is an old poem, thought lost, but recently recovered.  A real memory.

     

     

    Haibun: Bobcat On The Cartercay

     

    Drifting on a jade current slow as this August day; the erratic clunk of oar-gunnel collide complements mosquito’s whine and only a raucous call of  Dryocopus pileatus startles me back from my innocuous memory glide.  My fingers, trailing through the cool water, paint splendid, ephemeral works of art. Verdant spillings of laurel, fern, jeweled weeds and clinging vines tumbling from tracked banks, glossy with malodorous mud, narrow and crook my creek canvas.  Around a turn so slight and he is there; we both, mid-creek, suddenly aware and he, swinging around, retraces his eddying path.  Reaching the right bank, he emerges with a rippling shake and his stare follows me ….me, staring with wonder, drifting by, while his eyes, softly intent, expressed no surprise, no reproach I can discern.  None at all.  Now turning, unhurriedly….one step….two….into the dappled green tangle and he is gone…..like a thought lost; his image in my mind instantly vague, generic… swirling by.

     

    obliviously

    intended prey   a drake bobs

    summer’s shallow shade

     

     

    Bobcat

    Drifting on a jade current slow
    as the August day..…. the erratic
    clunk of oar/gunnel collide
    complemented mosquito whine
    and only the raucous call of
    Dryocopus pileatus startled me
    from an innocuous memory glide.

    Verdant spillings of laurel, fern,
    jeweled weeds and clinging vines
    narrowed the creek from tracked banks
    glossy with malodorous mud.

    Around a turn so slight and he was there;
    we both, mid-creek, suddenly aware….and
    swinging around, he reached the right bank
    emerging with a shake; his stare, void
    of any emotion I could discern,
    followed me ….me staring with wonder.
    His eyes, softly intent, expressed no reproach.
    Then turning, unhurriedly….one step
    ….two….into the dappled tangle,
    he was gone…..like a thought lost;
    his image instantly vague and generic.

    A drake, his intended prey,
    bobbed the left shallows obliviously.

  • Haiku

    Dog squats

    Head held high

    Not sniffing

     

    Honeysuckle scent

    With head high….dog slowly squats

    Intent….not sniffing.

     

  • Bird

    OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

    Speckle/breasted thrasher chucks the one-eye;

    tschuck!…tschuck!…tschuck! he warns and scolds

    perceived encroaching.  Sorry, I mumble at his cry.

    How did I reach this instant, this soul plateau,

     

    accepting censure from an ill-mannered bird….

    his chirps articulate, more true than mine;

    their spring pure unlike my struggling words

    failing to fathom their season, their place in time?

  • Gossamer Chain

    Clinking gossamer of phantom links

    Weak as will, strong as adoration,

    Binds us One from our separate shores,

     

    At times, dangling to currents tumult,

    Jerking, teasing a tangled bereavement.

    But, at times, tensing to beams of bliss.

  • Plastic Flowers

    Gaia reveals the truth, at times,

    Not subtly, but rocking….tumbling

    What we deem rock and tumble proof.

    That flora in that window box,

    So bright and white and red; erect

    Despite this freeze? Distance deceives

    Our naive hearts and eyes effortlessly.

    Scent would have squealed; revealed the fib.

    Too high the price a sniff demands?

    We “hem and haw” and she larks.

    Our claims of dominion, our crow,

    As meaningless as plastic blooms.

  • october

     

    leaves 018

    final sweet release

     dry tick-tock fluttering down

    rasping amber light

  • Haiku: poetic license

    poetic license….

    flung to lime pond scum…“There frog!” 

    Nonrefundable! 

  • Haiku: Thief

     Honeybees…. zing…zing

    Divining pure sustenance

    I take it from them!