Manga Popart Butterfly

Manga Popart Butterfly

Wednesday, June 7, 2017

Saturday, June 3, 2017

Wednesday, May 31, 2017

Dear Diary,

Today:

Delicate purple striped blossoms
on strong, slender stalks,
soon to become indigo eggplants;
a bee in a sunshine yellow squash blossom,
bee-yellow, drenched in pollen; a royal violet Morning Glory,
it's tiny godlight shining brightly;
my garden, wild(!), wild(!) with new growth;
tomatoes, peppers, squash and beans...beans(!)

I tell you

it is all too much, too much---

May, you fertile, fecund bitch,
thank you, thank you, thank you!

5/31/17

Sunday, May 28, 2017

Dear Sunday,

You arrived, weeping---
your soft tears gave new life to
four Moonflower seeds.

5/28/17

Saturday, May 27, 2017

Dear Diary,

Were it not for the flowers,
& the blue dragonflies
I'd be long gone.

5/26/17


Wednesday, May 10, 2017

Dear Morning:





I wake with these lyrics
going round and round my head:

"And the days go by
like a strand in the wind
in the web that is my own
I begin again..."  ~Stevie Nicks, 'Edge of Seventeen'

I put the coffee on, then
head out the back sliding
glass doors to the patio.

The morning dew glistens on the 
freshly cut grass and
dragonflies dip and sip
like flying jewels,
wings sparkling
in the new day's sun.

I am present for this moment.
I'm alive and I see.
What more is there?

I water the garden.
The Bush Beans are
leaning, reaching
toward the rising sun.
The Squash blossoms 
vibrate with yellow-ness.
The Tomato leaves 
generously release
their unique fragrance---

The Catalpa tree
drops a blossom at
my dew-covered bare feet.
I look up...there are no blossoms
anywhere on the old tree.
A gift, this little Orchid-like
flower.  Thank you, tree.

Birdsong surrounds me,
a chorus of life and joy.

Thank you, Morning,
for your generous gifts.




Friday, April 28, 2017

Dear Garden:

Newly planted in fresh, organic soil---
the first rain is approaching.

Are your fragrant leaves
quivering in anticipation, or
in naked fear of the unknown?

Does the thunder rattling your roots
cause them to retract defensively or
shiver and expand at the unexpected thrill?

And what of the lightning flashing
like fireworks at midnight?
Are you confounded by illumination
in the obsidian darkness or are you
reaching skyward in eager anticipation
of the sporadic electrified light?

Do you feel the ecstasy of a tiny blossom
becoming a heavy, luscious, red tomato?

Do you recall the dry, embryonic safety
of the seed, the void from whence you came?

And when all your food is taken, ripped
from your stems---do you mourn the loss
or exalt in the hundreds of seeds
you so generously left behind?

O, garden, mirror of all of life,
how I envy your transitory,
fecund life...

Marion Lawless
4/26/17