The electric buzz overhead vibrating power lines feeding into every house, draining dollars, but lighting the night. This machine kills the freedom to fall asleep at dusk, or to rise only at the break of dawn. This machine kills the freedom to turn off the computer and talk to your friends on a lazy summer evening. or does it only allow us to destroy our own freedom.
This last weekend was a heavy duty volunteer weekend! Our bike club hosted Deer Trail Road Race on Saturday. On Sunday, six of us from the Goss-Grove Community Garden weeded two large flower beds, and then they were watered in the process of emptying water bottles left over the race a couple of hours later. All that work was rewarded by a cold Margarita!
The multiplicative effect
From two to four a garden was weeded by six willing hands. From five to six, a garden was watered by four willing hands. In each willing movement, the earth was restored and nourished. And so were we.
Back alleys and quiet side streets, thriving local businesses, outdoor cooking, new construction bucking national trends, convertibles loaded up for travel to distant bike races, don’t they know the race is right here.
The spring ritual. Drooling over seed packets with the prettiest pictures at McGuckins. Carefully placing 1-3 seeds in each carefully rehydrated peat pot, covering them, warming them. The feeling of excitement at seeing the first signs of sprouting life! Placing them under lights in the basement, and watching them grow, for awhile. Losing interest as their roots and leaves intertwine, they’re too big to be in tiny peat pots, too early to go outside. Early summer arrives. The surviving portion goes outside, some I remember to water. I tell myself not to do this next year while secretly assuring myself I’ll do it better next year. Hope springs eternal.
She looked tired and had gained weight. Bad stage lighting highlighted the bags under her eyes, her fleshy upper arms. She carefully removed her black patent party shoes, looking under the keyboard to locate the foot pedal. She looked at the few of us sprinkled across several tables, her fingers struck a minor chord, her voice a smoky blue. We were all waiting for her lover one rainy night in Paris.
Ten of us from the cycling club, and a dog, did our bi-annual cleanup of Nelson Road between 51st and 63rd. Getting to be an easier task every time, thank goodness! With Earth Day coming up, be sure and do something special for our beautiful planet.
It was a draw, even though there wasn’t much competition. The empty Raspberry Vodka bottle was a find, but it was found “out of bounds” while we were waiting around. The Mexican drivers license was hidden in the tall grass, extra points for that. Otherwise, the usual. Countless cigarette butts, empty beer cans (Bud quality). The detritus of Human existence thrown carelessly out an open window, while careening down the highway.
Victorian house for sale in East Boulder. It was perfect! The neighborhood was well kept and peaceful. After all, wasn’t she too old to pick up trash left behind by high schoolers, be woken up from an already fragile sleep. The house was perfect! It had a garden and a driveway!
Except there was no one with pink hair walking down the street. no 2 a.m. serenades when the bars closed no walking to Farmers’ Market, the Library or McGuckins’. No thugs stealing bicycles and pitching them in the creek, or drug dealers lining the alleys,
no rotating dragonflies in the nearby garden. No variety, no spice of life!
The house was perfect! Everyone was middle-aged and well behaved.
She didn’t move after all, it was one step closer to the cemetery.
Twelve empty wine bottles tossed into the recycle bin after my New Bathroom party. I had only had one small half glass! Mary walked in with one decanted bottle of wine to share over dinner. This time, my half glass was going to prove adequate!
This is a poem about an event at Boulder Book Store celebrating National Poetry Month. I was also delighted to see Matt and Tracy Tucker, who also read poems.
Poetry Reading: Venue #2
I don’t have to resist foul language, or tedious sexual innuendo. It's a more sedate crowd, better writers. We enjoy hors d’oeuvres and chilled white wine, Bookcases heavy with volumes of poetry protect us from the mundane. We settle into comfy chairs. Poetry enters me, engages me,
Hanging laundry on the back porch in shorts and a T-shirt. Waking up to the sound of a door, slamming shut, swinging open on squeaky hinges, slamming shut, over and over again. Hearing the wind building up the canyon, slamming into the house, rattling the windows, even the taped wind chimes make a racket. Crystal clear skies and sunshine reflecting off newly fallen snow. All within 24 hours in my town.
I send my check to Uncle Sam as late as possible, reluctantly, thinking of Iraq, Blackwater, Bear-Sterns, Dubya and his cronies, living it up, so smug in their belief that they’re right. I think of skyrocketing tuition, foreclosures, more cuts to scientific research, tax refunds to encourage yet more spending, astronomical debt we leave our children. I send my check not because I believe in our government, but because I have to. Nothing more and nothing less.
I always grin when I walk down the long corridor to his office following his long legs and goofy black Earth shoes He just looks so much like big 12 year old that it’s hard to take him seriously, until he settles into his leather chair and starts talking.
The floorboards creak in the darkness of night, the footsteps of the Firth family, the Anderson family, long gone now, we thought, but there is still some weight there, their footsteps cause the floorboards to creak and wake me in the night.
There is breathing this morning, snoring even, of someone who used to live here, we thought they were long gone, but there is still some power in their inhales, their exhales, only stopping when they wake up and start their day.
A blonde tousle-headed lad prone to alcoholic binges, a marathon runner, from life, pain, memories. A sensitive lad, thoughtful, does his best to follow a path that disappears in front of his own eyes. He struggles, parents far away, no, he’s not an adult even if he can drink and vote. Just out of detox this afternoon and back to the same life, no more answers, maybe the alcohol dulled the questions and at least he can sleep tonight.
Climb hard straight ahead, then take a sharp U-turn to the right. The rock wall in front of you will block your path, the one you have been following so assiduously, hardly considering whether it makes sense or not anymore, that decision you made long ago that seemed right at the time. Take the U-turn, or you will be blocked by the wisdom of the ages, manifestation of millennia laid down, pushed up then worn by wind and water, natures’ decisions taken, reversed, cracked, recast and formed into an unequaled beauty. Take the U-turn and learn from Her wisdom.
You were due this day twenty two years ago. Three more days and the energy level in the world quadrupled, and entropy was up a decade manifested in a small apartment overflowing with baby paraphernalia, an extra set of grandparents. We were two exhausted parents. Now bikes, battered travel bags, a dog eared copy of On the Road, flamboyant high topped red leather combat boots, lost duvet covers, your various accoutrements. You’ve tried to eclipse your sister over the years, but she’s gotten a lot stronger. I’m still waiting for you to pick up the shower curtain and used paintbrushes you used for your last artistic creation. It may be awhile.
I decided on the suit with the pink and blue candies scattered across my body and the hot pink swim cap. I will flounder across the pool simulating a crawl, appropriately named as a child learning to walk, They will smile at me, stifle a laugh, and when I catch my breath, I will smile, too.
I love you! A salve for lonely hearts, those who push shopping carts filled with dirty sleeping bags, aluminum cans and other found treasures. I love you! Written to all of us who wander by the 18th Street bridge abutment, our heads down, rich or poor, happy or sad, those with faith and those without. The answer is right in front of us. The answer is love.