AS IN SOWING
Set up a microphone
in the middle of Kansas fields.
Today the grass has greened.
Today is snowy.
Today is windy.
Today is rainy.
Yesterday I saw a man on a tractor
before hunters arrived, in season.
No houses or barns surround the field
where the stand is wired
to face the dun rise. I cannot tell
whether those are cirrocumulus wisps
presaging a storm
or contrails from military practice.
At the base of the metal pole
three pairs of naked feet
from three blankets.
Only the feet are revealed.
All the blossoms could be microphones
accelerating sandpipers address.
She has a quiet magnetism
distinctly her own. To say nothing
of a girlish dimension that
flourishes though she‚s seventy.
I could never live in a pink house
The blue-bedded raft
drifts into Biblical prophecy
when the green pond blazes at sunset.
You don't need spectacles to see this.
WAVERING OHIO TRANSCRIPT
Dream acorns, friend, rippling over crawdads
as the stream fiddles through cornfields.
Beside the river, abandoned limestone canal locks
are wrapped in chigger-infested weeds.
Jetliners float overhead, next to the moon,
while frogs contest amid whiskey shards.
Within the hurdy-gurdy history of this place,
distant bugles and drumming signal an approaching train.
In front of midnight verandas, the pineapple street lamps
could as easily be homegrown pickles kept on a high shelf.
When thunderbolts squeeze our elastic-band sleep,
bowed catgut scratches the steel blankets.
When surreal guerrilla invaders
spooked your apprehensive repose,
you grasped for my luster,
confusing me for a nightstand.
In the end, elusive loveliness was the paragon
I pursued as a cerebral pathway into nature.
Entering its wilderness unarmed,
I was too soon looking down a rifle barrel
-- save thy mind.
Someday you'll exchange
your knife-and-blood-dripping reveries
for wands of sunlight.
AFTER QUARTERLY MEETING
ON QUAKER HILL IN HENNIKER
Braking at the downward
bend of mountain road
in paint-box foliage,
I spare the indignant,
darting footballs amassing
from shadow while another
sedan draws up behind me.
At last. two dozen native
gobblers obstruct the way.
Unseen above the canopy,
hurricane remnants break up
in late-afternoon glory.
After worship a year later,
sixty miles distant, I overhear
conversation and pipe up.
"Oh, yeah," Sara struts,
"you saw them, too. Your car
was in front of us."
SUN SCREEN AND MORE
what did you expect?
on the shore?
To come to the beach
and erect a tent
at the high-tide line
on a clear warm day
obstructs the view
with no purpose.
If only the rubber viper
floating in the child's hand
would clear this!
Beware of the undertow.
© Jnana Hodson 2005