fire in winter

Isn't this a haiku in waiting?

 

 

First let me say that I am sorry that the wench was gone last season

 

...my inner gardener was on life support

 

too many family issues for a whimsical heart

 

too many

 

But I discovered that when I turned my back on the garden

 

I shriveled inside

and very quickly

 

I am a person of the soil

 

I thrive on petals

 

and sunshine on my skin

and the smell of wet soil

 

spiders and snails and toads

 

This spring I think I will faint dead away when I spot an aconite

 

or the blood root

 

or trilliums

 

Oh to get back to life blood of my soul

 

I hope you find me again and journey back to a garden life with me

 

I am 65 now.....but I know the garden will make me a child again

 

only with a little menthol rub

 

 

a fruit burdened tree
hungry birds visit branches
fullness of autumn
 

man made adornments
blue and green glass swings from gate
against sky and leaves

 

iron weed sighting
blossoms bending in the wind
beauty my nectar
 

 

tablecloth pattern
I sit alone while waiting
imitation joy

 

soft afternoon light
rays filtering through cobwebs
passing panes of thought

artist
R.TomGilleon

a fire inside
there dwells the hearth of the home
you stoke it with love

 

 

nodding columbine
morning meditation walk
garden bells silent

 

lonely summer day
a piece of cake to dull it
too much company

Spring ephemeral
pink then blue then they are gone
joy can be like this

bowl of chicken soup
cure rising over noodles
like my mother made

get the story down
writing that really matters
advice on three beers

local cuisine hunt
an epicurean risk
next time, read the sign

It is what it is
broasted chicken and stuffing
Viking Grill visit

 Lawrence Avenue
Mexican people waiting
 their bus yet to come

we see each other

I offer food, he gives joy

he thinks me the fool

falling into leaves
 looking up
into the sky
 feeling safe
right where you are
Daddy looking on
now that's childhood


falling into leaves
looking up into the sky
watched over by dad

early morning light
worn oak chair,a coffee mug
something good to read

You have to respect
 an open door that threatens
signs are everywhere

Japanese maple
the slant of afternoon light
a catching of fire

witch hazel blooming
January wind blows cold
winter life shout out

We stepped inside the diner,
strangers in a strange land.
Every boothfull turned and stared
then looked away,not seeing a threat.
We orderd our eggs,sunny-side up.
They don't have Greek toast here
so we chose rye.
In walked an old man,
he walked right to a stool in the corner.
The waitress poured him a cup of hot coffee
without even asking.
He layed out a handful of change on the counter
and began to seperate the coins
and counted
and recounted them.
We looked at each other
thinking the same thing...
he wasn't sure he had enough.
But we were strangers
 in a small town,
 he had all that he needed,
a diner that cared.
We paid our bill
 as he continued to count and recount his change.
 We left
 as Gertie gave him a plate of food.

snow covered sundial
the earth moves around the sun
unseen facts don't change

woodland messenger
a sharp caw-caw sails thorough trees
cast breadcubes on grass

I am so alone
a flower standing in snow
artificial life

winter woods debris
fern and moss reach up to sun
living among dead

paralyzed spirit

gravity claimed body form

a complete collapse

a staring cat sits

many years I have known her

I wait on her tail

papers,magazines
their bodies leaning away
the waiting room blues

 against a blue sky

bright red berries on branches

 master painter

the meaning of light

love, where there once was darkness

rejoice,oh,rejoice

Thanksgiving Day gray

it reminds me that others

have want,need,hunger

woodbine scarlet leaves

 mingle with grapevine on wall

my mind entangled

fallen at my feet

different hues of autumn

stepping in yearning

Who needs church windows?
Bare branches and colored leaves
My own cathedral

I cut words and paste
place them in a book, and still
the pieces all fit

a dragon of leaves

evening sunlight piercing through

 autumn soon to die

 many wind horses

you ride up and you ride down

the blessings of prayer

fallen like oak leaves

little chairs in the garden

too soon you grew up  

Have you ever felt like an out building

standing in a cornfield

surrounded by change

knowing your time has come and gone

your usefulness like old barn boards

broken and weathered

standing until you can't anymore

and thinking no one will notice

...the day you get felled?