An Autumn’s Juxtaposition: The Spiders In The House Plant

My houseplants have been on the porch all summer.

The moon, white as vanilla, sends an evening chill

announcing a late October frost.

They must be carried inside, some hung

from my kitchen’s skylight windows.

 

Picking them up and carrying them through the porch, we welcomed each other.

As I open the storm door, I thought I heard a tiny critter voice chatter;

barely heard, but definitely noticed on the right side from my good ear,

inviting me to look closely at the plants. But, I chose

to quickly put them down on the porch floor.

 

I was a little concerned about my state of mind.

A worry, I must admit, since I was born.

 

Peering cautiously through the leaves of the one plant on the right side,

I spied a silver spider web laced between stems and leaves.

On closer inspection, I saw two critters with long skinny legs;

one in the center of the web and the other, on its furthest edge.

In the center, standing on six of his eight legs,

with one hand on his hip and another extended towards me,

I believe, to introduce himself with a hand or whatever I was supposed to shake.

Without hesitation, he began to speak, quite clearly, in my one good ear.

“Hey! Big Guy!

Bigger of biggest fellows!

I apologize for my intrusion your glorious immensity.

Speaking for the half of which I represent;

This of course, includes only me, for the other half has not yet agreed.

I am asking for your support in avoiding the outside tonight

and perhaps throughout the next two seasons.

For me, big guy, you show wisdom, compassion and a good taste in women.

I plead for you to save us, me and the little lady, where we could be killed

or die freezing outside. We are the third generation that has shared

 this house and we do wish to continue to abide.

 Love the light! Love the dark! Love what you have done inside.”

 

Startled as he spoke I felt dumbfounded,

out of breath, without words in the bellows.

 “Hey you! Snap out of it! Hey! Big Guy! Bigger of biggest fellows!

 I have just heard from the other half. The Mrs. has also agreed to plead

quietly to you. Asking for the joy to watch the early seasons go by…

 weaving harmlessly among the leaves”.

Aghast, with natural concern, I pushed the plant away from my face.

I picked them up, still a little suspicious of the others,

I hurriedly brought them all inside, two at a time.

 

 

I made a pot a coffee; setting a cup in a saucer with a spoon,

sugar, and next to them, a carton of cream.

 

 

In the dimming light of late autumn

I placed the spider plant on the kitchen table.

Facing the shiny silver web, we started talking away

with spinning yarns and silver threads of family and friends;

all of whom have lived here. Reminiscing, laughing, I, drinking fresh coffee

and they, drinking from teacups, with warm evenings dew.

 

(We spoke about our parents, grandparents,

children, and all the visiting inhabitants.

Some I never knew existed and some apparently they ate.

I have yet to meet the others that are staying here;

evidently, they have cousins from the fiddleheads estate,

having arrive earlier, deciding to winter in the cellar downstairs.)

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An October Morning

Leaves are dancing in rhythm with the wind.

Frost embraces its partner —holding Fall within.

Colorful chaos prances through woods and on soil.

 

I kick dust-up behind me —before it settles cold.

I go forward alone, remembering an old friend,

humming those ole “dirt road blues” again.

 

Page 97 of 122 ~Pine Cone Diary~

[1st. Draft Dec,2017 rev: Sept,2018 ] 

A weathered Sundial

 

When we are young,

We can tolerate physical pain,

 emotional blizzards and blinding rain.

      We seek recognition, fortune, and elusive fame.

We chase glittering stars on summer nights

and keep sentry for sunrise to celebrate dawn with life.

 

We even can cry without forcing a fight.

     We can talk, discuss, and compromise.

We recognize beauty in a surprise.

We are able to light a candle when the fire dies.

 

When we are young,

we can laugh at ourselves. We believe in pennies

flipped fluttering to the bottom of wishing wells.

We become Peter Pan and Wendy

ignoring pouting Tinkerbelle.

 

We watch directions flow through heart than through mind.

     We travel distances immeasurably fast;

roadways, highways, and paths. We float

above chipped concrete, soft tar, and beaches

with ankle-deep sand.

     Even paths that are crook and twisted

in shallow water or on solid land.

     We are each other’s map.

 

We frolic in spaces where time never exists;

     along with places, where sadness, is just a visit.

When we are young,

eventually those days, I suppose, age eclipses.

 

**********

When we are old,

we sit with aches and pain. Confused and misunderstanding, we complain.

     Our clothes begin to slip or do not fit.

Along with our acceptance of expected fortune

 and absence of fame.

     We wear sweaters and warm cotton hats on cool summer nights

watching the sunset fade into rising moonlight.

 

(Having bitten Eve’s apple, once forbidden

     We become stubborn —guilt ridden with indigestion

and slow in healing. We sleep uneasily on thin frayed

but forgiving linen. We forget ourselves in mixed memories,

forgetting our birthday in evaporating wishing wells).

 

 

The sound of muted Tocks

Tick off the clock, like muffled thunder

under the hoofs of approaching mercenaries;

Angels from heaven and perhaps one or two

from hell’s monastery.

 

We shed a small tear, becoming a prism, a glitter

     in the sliver of a waning moon. We let it fall with joy

on another evenings shadow,

cast upon a weathered sundial, praying for the ‘morrow;

     when we are old.

(It all subsides from youth to age.

From steel to rust, from rock to gravel.

From coal to diamond and back to dust.)

 

Notes Found on the Refrigerator September 2018

Gossip vs Truth   [Koan]

Some sort of melodic minor,

the only note a hummingbird leaves;

fluttering away with the nectar

before the buzz of the bees.

*****

Oh quite down Fido!

You’ll have a heart attack.

*****

A Peaceful Exhale

Sometimes when I deeply inhale,

my body stands still to hear

the soft distant sound of chanting voices,

tuning in rehearsal

for their first and last symphony.

I, as the conductor, seem to arrive late.

However, each time I do the chanting stops

as I search for another apology.

A perfect crescendo in all voices

breaks out exclaiming,

“Stand still,

free refreshments are on the way!”

I take the podium asking all to rise

on the other side, in a peaceful exhale

In tuning. 

Epilogue:

Each time when I may disagree,

 I take a deep breath and cross over to the other side… another place to go

 to understand, to stand, and to carry my thoughts from compromise to truth;

I have  found myself on a mutual  side, having discarded ego .

 

 

Garner-Jane’s 1st. Birthday 2018

Sweet Garner-Jane

I sat outside by the fire, occasional adding a log or two,

keeping it ready for s’mores; for Crosby and Garner-Jane’s crew.

I listened to the chatter along with laughter, coming from the porch and throughout the house,

listening as it mingled with the campfire smoke floating to the sky.

I could hear celebration of her future announced in love,

As Loud As Bright Could Be.

 

**********

 

 

 

 

Understanding Love [Haibun]*

     The screech of a bird on a nearby tree alerted me, that their prey was at my feet. I saw nothing but my heart beating, which through my shirt, slipped and fell at my feet, among the weeds.

     The bird screeched louder, followed by small chirps before landing on a branch next to me. I could see its eyes focused on my eyes.  

     I reached down and picked up my heart, tried to force it into my wallet, but it would not fit. So, I tried to stuff it into my pockets. Naw, that wasn’t it! I had no choice but to reconnect to my body, speech and mind. By the time, it was done…

summer bird is gone

leaving me with fall’s bright colors

quilt for winter snow

 

 

*Haibun (俳文, literally, haikai writings) is a prosimetric literary form originating in Japan, combining prose and haiku.

 

 

Love’s Fond Heart

[The Fairy tale of Kathryn from Franklin, NH. She continues to flutter throughout the foothills of the White Mountains and the Lakes Region]

At even-tide,

leaving with last light of dusk,

I watched her silhouette fade

into the dark tree line.

Ferns lean

to mark and soften her path.

Trees in the forest bend their branches

to shed moonlight on the walkway

for an old friend.

She returns

with her straw-basket beaming bright.

Not only for me, but for all she greets.

Sharing evenings shedded 

—morning’s light.

 

*[Edited from original draft]~