The Meaning of the Spring Beds Revealed

For backyard gardeners this week is pretty much the holiest time of year. It's when we first get down on our hands and knees and commence removing the straw in order to uncover the beds.  I can't tell just how thrilling it is to catch that first sight of the strawberry shoots and vines unfurling, with the small weeds trembling in their midst.  At the very moment of uncovering this bed, it is already teeming with life, just like a mosh pit, it's impossible to make even the slightest move for fear of trampling on some still pre-nascent leaflet that is not quite ready for daylight.

So here is a new poem I've written in honor of the moment this year's unfurling of the strawberry patch -

There is a deeper meaning

Found in those things embedded

Which is only revealed

To us once we get down

On our hands and knees

To inspect spring's first growth

There in the plush locus

We find the source

Of all our comforts

To be given and received  

In the vines and weeds entwined

And the strawberry leaves

Unfurling in vernal light

Announcing the race

Back to life

Just as well we might 

Disport ourselves one day soon

On the divan or couch

Gradually spreading out 

And ready to proliferate

Poem Inspired by Marissa's Photo

So we sojourned there

For many happy seasons

Leeward of the rising sun

The waves led us on 

Like a stairway ascending

From Good Ground to

The blue gray horizon

And then up into the beyond

Through the layers of stratus

Piled all the way to high heaven

Into the clairvoyant light above

Ode for the Balm of Gilead (#心心)

The deeper and deeper

Into the moment you get

The more de-personified

Your awareness grows

Almost disembodied

As if it had transcended

The bicameral mind

And now lodged itself 

In a third hemisphere yet 

Unnamed and unflagged

But unflagging in its

Determination to maintain

A peaceful disposition

This is what

It means to

Think with

Your heart

Instead of
Your brain

*******************

With this poem I am pleased to announce the introduction of a new hashtag into my vernacular.  The hashtag is #心心.  It is the first time I have used a hashtag composed of a Chinese character - 心 - which is the Chinese word for heart.  A secondary meaning is to think or feel.  It is one of the distinguishing features of the Chinese language, which is central to the Daoist and Chan Buddhist traditions, that you associate thinking with your heart.  Thus this hashtag literally translated into English means: to think with your heart - #心心. Use it well and wisely! 

A Final Moment (or two) of Doubt

The if not now when

That I hear now and again

Does that count

As being in

The present moment

I wonder

The same way

I hear the same bird

Singing

Over and over

I get carried away

All too easily

By the slightest

Suggestion of spring

With the bird

Still singing and

The sunlight strafing me

On a frigid March afternoon

Even the hollow sound

Of the neighborhood kids

Playing out of doors

And the car door slamming

Not so far away

Can't help but
Remind me of all

The warmer days

Soon to come

For the Omphalos on the Supermarket Shelf

As if phallus

And omphalos

Decided to share

 A single self

The flower petal 

Streaked with green

Still throbbing with life

It constitutes an in-store

Display of the purest kind

A flower sermon delivered

There on the supermarket shelf

* * * * *

Photo by M. Bridge

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The Same Storm Coming and Going

This afternoon I went out for a walk along Ponquogue Beach.  A chill wind was blowing in from the east in what could be the last of this winter's storms.  And it reminded me of this long running dispute between me and Marissa, one of those half-serious arguments that spans half our marriage.  She says a nor'easter is one of those storms that sweeps up the coast, originating in the Caribbean, and I say it's one of those that slams into us from the north Atlantic, the winds rising from the north east.

And of course, as with most such long running marital spats, we're both correct.  That's the very nature of the cyclonic effect of life.  Like any good marriage, it's two vectors coming together as part of the same storm, coming and going, the winds redoubled in size.

Ode to Saying No (to the proposed PPD)

Dear Editors:

I am a resident of the village of East Quogue.  I am also a poet and currently serve (by self-proclamation) as the official poet laureate of Weesuck Creek. 

It is in my official capacity that I am writing to express my strong opposition to Discovery Land Company's proposed luxury golf resort development known as the Hills.   Mindful that some of my neighbors may harbor views to the contrary, I believe I speak for most of my constituents, including a large majority of the residents who live along both the east and west banks of Weesuck Creek.  I also speak on behalf of a large community of shorebirds, including the gulls, egrets, ospreys and cormorants with whom I make it my business to commune as frequently as possible.  To a bird (I am utterly certain) they are unanimously opposed to this project.

Although it may exceed the word limit for letters to the editor I ask you to consider publication of the following poem that I have written to mark this occasion and through which I am making publicly known my position on this pressing issue.

Ode to Saying No (to the proposed PPD)

For Discovery shall

Hold no sway here

Nor shall luxury

Claim dominion

Over the Pine Barrens

Build as of right

Or leave it in peace

Let the tides alone

Speak about variance

Nor is there need

For abatement given

The fragile state of

Our wetlands paradise

Where all is but lost and  

Then again reclaimed 

Twice every day

What hangs in the balance

Is one of earth’s remaining

Sacred spots Achabaca

Weesuck Creek by name

Sanctuary to shorebird

And songbird alike

Retirees from the city

Distinguished members

Of the building trades

First responders and

Assorted Bonackers

And Shinnecocks all

With their competing claims

We have staked out 

Our lots on this sandbar

Forever certain that

Although the ground 

Continues to shift

Beneath our feet

We will forever resist

The notion that we

May attain any value

Through Discovery

If that means putting 

At risk this fragile beauty

With which we are

Otherwise sustained

The Difference between a Poem and a Tweet

Sometimes it's hard to see much difference between a poem and a tweet. Character counts for everything. Best keep what's said short and sweet.

Between Blossom and Freeze

The changes in the weather are said to be extreme and so far this spring it’s been nip and tuck between blossom and freeze. I saw a crocus on the lawn this morning and then a little later discovered a rime of ice remained down by the Creek.

Encouraged by a warm west wind, the willow in my neighbor’s front yard began to glow this afternoon, the first real aureole and irreversible sign of spring -- a pale yellow fire fueled by the slanting rays of the afternoon sun. With the catkins' arrival it’s hard to believe tomorrow's forecast calls for 2 inches of snow and then a day or so later perhaps we will get to welcome the first daffodil. So the lion and lamb have muddled together as one.

Poem for Early March

On the negative side
There's the problem
I've encountered recently
With the brussels sprouts
On the positive
I can think of
Well over a hundred
Things I feel truly
Grateful about
On this the second
Day of March
The Ides not being far behind
But already I find myself
Overwhelmed with love
For the earth again and
The unfolding campaign
To reclaim the garden

It really is a matter of commitment. Going along day by day, finally I got to the point where I realized there is no point in holding back any longer - today is the day I decided to declare the first day of spring here on Fourth Neck. (This is part of my responsibility as the self-proclaimed poet laureate for my littoral zone.) We had a heavy wind out here on Long Island but it was blustery and not cold - just the way a late March wind is supposed to blow. And then I noticed this hyacinth that had just about turned the corner and all but decided to bloom. And that's when I decided to write my first poem for this spring - the earliest date on which I have ever committed to do so up until this year.  As my friend Peter Rippon put it: boing boing ... here's to the spring.