Decomposing

My futile attempt to find nature

I start with parks,

Unassuming grassy expanses

Rimmed with palms, perhaps

With a pond or playground

I graduate to preserves

Larger ponds, sometimes with

Geese, always with ducks

I walk along its paved paths

Or rocky byways, but I

Run into the road

The sounds of cars inescapable

Beyond the quacks and honks

And rustling of untrimmed mesquites

I try a "hike", more of a

Stroll through the stones of a

Great, holey hill

I lose track of my impromptu

Guides, so I take the easy route

It leads to he canal, another

Reminder of man's hubris in the

Desert biome I now call home

I was born to a land of true wilds,

Of old growth forests protected by

Fences, yes, but standing proud, uncut

I was born to hills, and creeks, and

Bushes bursting with black berries,

Counting the stars on a clear night,

Camping in the back yard,

Craning our necks to watch deer

And woodpeckers working

To hear bats screech under the new moon

I sit on a plastic bench, molded like wood

I watch men fish at stocked ponds,

I hope the sounds of motorcycles

Doesn't scare their catch,

But these creatures are likely as

Trained to the sounds as the grackles

Are to rooting through trash

I pray that the little natures around me

Remain un-golfed, and undeveloped

That the canal can yet give rest to cormorants,

That the bougainvilleas can shelter the sparrows,

That what little respect my new home has

For its many gifts can yet be preserved,

For the sake of the hikers, the birds,

The saguaros, even the God-given rocks

I pray for all of these things with my one

Little soul, with all the nature within,

Though futile my tiny words may be

To the unrelenting force of mankind's

Unending greed and craving for more,

More, more

Fret not, the crocus

Has not croaked its last

The trembling toad

Awaiting a rushing spring

The daffodils dreaming of

Frolics and foibles

The barren trees waiting

To stretch toward the sun

The hush of the lark

The ice of the night

A breath held

A song remembered

ouroboros

(ione meraki 2024)

Bittersweet

bury me with my money

Bury me with acorns,

Don't bury me in a box.

If you must, bury me in

A shroud of cotton.

Bury me in a simple shift

Don't bury me in a suit;

My rising will not be a formal affair.

Don't wear your best to

See me off.

Wear what you can get dirty.

You'll be spreading the mulch

On my gravesite.

Bury me with grave goods,

So if I am discovered by

Archeologists someday,

They will know I was loved.

Bury me with flowers,

But don't bury me with fresh roses.

Nay, plant on me perennials,

So you can still see me every year.

Finally, bury me with a stone marker,

But don't spend a fortune.

Carve for me the name I chose,

No matter what others may call me.

Bury me under sturdy granite,

So I can yet leave my mark

On something set for years.

While you may not see me,

These marks will be my gift to you.

Bury me with my money,

But the riches of the things I hold

Most dear.

Before you a love song never took shape 

never blinked at me with blue-green eyes,

never stabbed me. 

Before you a breakup song never 

laid on my shoulder

and cried with me 

Your love made it all make sense. 

This is why teardrops were on guitars. 

This was why la vie was en rose. 

I only wish I had left love

safely buried

on pages and stanzas.

Poison in the Dose