Many

Wie viel sind deine Werk'

Red-shafted flicker, red-winged blackbird, redstart.

Ruby-throated hummingbird, rose-breasted grosbeak, redpoll.

Purple finch (which is red).

Yellowthroat, yellow warbler, goldfinch.

Yellowlegs, goldeneye, yellow-headed blackbird.

Yellow-bellied sapsucker, too.

Bluebird, bluejay, great blue heron,

and blue-winged teal.

[Wie viel... How many are your works]

Die Himmel erzählen...

Erzählen: to tell.

Predict

Bright azure and white,

patches of gunmetal gray.

The wind— you never know.

Instruct

Take an umbrella.

A jacket, at least.

Recount

Clouds moved in so fast!

The classroom was dark.

Got soaked on the way home.

Declare

Look, it's finally

stopped.

["Die Himmel erzählen": the heavens are telling.]

The third day

Denn er hat Himmel und Erde bekleidet in herrlicher Pracht.

Heaven

Tulips

fill their cups with sunlight.

Earth

Holes dug for daisies,

damp-earth scent released.

Clothed

Impatiens. How many ways are there

to be pink?

Glorious

Evening and morning fragrant

with lily-of-the-valley.

[more quoting from The Creation: "For he hath clothed heaven and earth in glorious splendor."]

Segmented

In langen Zügen kriecht am Boden das Gewürm.

Imagine the procession, that fifth day,

after all the impressive creatures

the line of moist grey bodies

pulling their segments in, stretching them out,

making for the nearest bit of dirt.

Disappearing one by one.

"You got good soil here,"

says the handyman, digging.

"Lots of worms."

He turns the clods over and there they are,

curled around dandelion roots:

dirt-eaters, leaf-shredders,

tunnel-makers.

Slimy things without eyes.

Vollendet ist das große Werk.

Job done, he waits for pay.

Der Schöpfer sieht's und freuet sich.

Sets down the spade. Says:

"She's ready for planting now."

[Quotations are from Haydn's oratorio The Creation.

In langen... In long procession the worms creep along the earth.

Vollendet... The great work is completed.

Der Schöpfer... The creator sees it and is pleased.

The struggle

The weeds have speed on their side,

a network of tough roots, skinny green runners.

They're going for total takeover.

Creeping charlie travels from lawn to garden,

smothers all in its path.

Weeds with arrowhead leaves

insinuate their roots around

strawberries fighting for a share of sun.

Garden fork turns over big clods

and I shake the earth loose, discard weeds,

dig to loosen a chunk of root. 

Down on hand and knees now,

gloves off, bare fingers

disentangle leaf from leaf.

Must work slowly

or berry plants would come out

with the weeds. This is why

the farmer in the parable says

don't even try it, wait till harvest,

then we'll sort it all out.

I can't wait. This root-by-root, 

stem-by-stem intervention must go on.

The weeds have speed on their side 

and I'm not fast enough.

Palm warbler

Thanks!

Album

And this is the pantry shelf:

twelve quarts of peaches,

seven pints of plums,

six pints of salsa.

Half-pints of jam, jelly:

strawberry, apricot, chokecherry.

A good shot, I think—

the contrasting colors,

the shine of the jars.

Most of it's gone now.

Last jar of peaches just emptied;

only apricot jam left (nobody's favorite).

Berries will come first. Then apricots,

peaches, plums, tomatoes.

Ritual of filling the canner, bathing the jars

with boiling water. Lids hot, syrup bubbling.

All the precautions against a faulty seal

letting in deadly spores.

Steam jostling the canner lid.

Kitchen sticky with fruit.

Bright sweetness preserved,

made to disappear.

Star Lake

Sunset calm. Lake is scarlet,

steel-blue, silver.

Surface of water sharp against ankles,

backs of knees, crotch, small of back—

then plunge, kick, and it's warm,

it's molten metal the color of flame.

Arms reach forward, sweep back.

Legs pull up, spring outward.

Water's different at sundown

warmer against the cooling air,

less foreign against my skin.

Near the floating dock I stop,

stand tiptoe on the bottom,

my gaze level with the surface.

Whirligig beetles dart and scurry,

helter-skelter, their bodies

polished droplets, perfect ovals

catching the light.

(this one feels a bit rough to me. There may be another version to come.)

Saskatoons

Wait for the blossoms— late May, June.

Five petals, white, with gaps between.

They look half-finished, fragile.

Cross fingers against a late frost, 

high wind, heavy rain.

Wait for the berries to fatten in July,

for the red to darken into purple-blue.

Then the slow picking: from each cluster

take the two ripe ones, leave the underripe,

the shrivelled. An hour or more to fill a pail.

Wait for the mouthful of sweet blue

juice on tongue, the almond bite

of seeds between teeth. 

Wait,

there's a better tree farther in.

More berries, bigger ones. 

There. 

The best ones 

are up high. Reach for them.

Sunday, the park

The kid with the cap-gun sits

on top of the climbing rock

shoulders slumped legs outstretched

fires off caps at the boys

with invisible swords

busy fighting off the cyclops

the mutant the alien

moving from ladder to bars to slide

they've got lasers now too

swish cyclops is down

the kid with the cap-gun slips

in beside them says nothing

points the gun crack crack

follows the boys points

and fires points and fires

the boys with invisible swords

get all the bad guys

the kid with the cap-gun points

fires his last cap

drops the gun

joins the game

The trail

White laces tugged tight, bow-tied,

White boots stumble across rough ice

to the centre. River's clay banks equidistant.

Hear waxwing's whistle from leafless maple,

a dog-walker's footsteps creak on packed snow.

Push off now: blades' rough hiss, prickle of cold air

on cheeks. A small wind, white noise in the ears.

Push, glide. Rhythm's easier now. 

In morning's brilliance, the body

becomes a solar cell. Push, glide.

Under bridge, past library, around the point.

Consider the wind's direction, think of the time. 

Consider going around the next curve, 

under the next bridge. 

See how long it takes

until feet in white boots

begin to stumble again. 

I'm new to the May Day project this year, and am quite interested to see what will come out of it. I don't have a particular topic in mind for my own postings, but will just see what demands to be written.

Birthday morning

[thanks!]

I'm new to the May Day project this year, and am quite interested to see what will come out of it. I don't have a particular topic in mind for my own postings, but will just see what demands to be written.