Baby Sunflowers

baby sunflowers

Sunflower Seeds Meet The Full Moon

They sprout from safe darkness
dirty heads wearing remnants
of the seeds that birthed them

for now they are but inconsequential stalks
living on my window sill

While the pompously bright but barren moon
ogles them (I imagine enviously)
– these springy suns to be.

© photo and poem by caf

Advertisements

So She Planted Sunflowers

 

P1170059

Sunflowers

It’s 25 degrees outside
cold as January is, biting winds
so today she planted Sunflower seeds.

Helianthus with the brown faces
and bright yellow rays
will soon atone for absent sun.

Lonely fields empty, frozen
garden life suspended
so today she planted Sunflower seeds.

Mostly a defiant act
their growth to be offered as proof
that winter and death do not control her heart.

© poem and photo by caf

In the Garden

IMG_0613

In the Garden

Butterfly –
from egg and caterpillar to cocoon of silk
to orange and black smear of summer
and quivering wings on Bee Balm – do you mark your age?
or do you think only of your assignment
to dance in the flowers
while we, the more evolved, fight our own metamorphosis
from cocoon of flesh to angel
arguing and resisting all the way home
to the garden.

©photo and poem by caf

Even in Winter

p1160338

The Orchid

Even in winter
when fields sleep
awaiting spring
and arrival of simple seed

Even in winter
when cattle stand
chewing their hay
awaiting the fresh grass of spring

Even in winter
when rooms shrink
and knotted energy
awaits returning warmth

The orchid uses the quiet
to flower
her beauty assumed
even in winter.

©photo and poem by carole fults

The Gardener Talks About the Gardener

the gardner

The Gardener Talks about the Gardener
“My young gardener comes weekly
to spread mulch,
pull weeds,
clean up winter’s mess.

He bends easily, shoveling, filling,
and dumping
the large wheel barrow.
The dirt flies when he comes to work, I tell you.

Time was, I could shovel all day
and go to bed at night
thinking about digging some more in the morning.

(Now my back rebels when I pick up a trowel,
and I rejoice when I can stop
to sit after weeding a bit.)

I listen to his stories,
trying to keep up with his
quick, graceful movements
but, really, I’m hoping it’s close to lunch
or even quitting time.
One more load of weeds and you’ll
have to wheel me back to the shed.

But we do have a commonality this young gardener and me.
We both have grubby hands and fingernails,
our pants are stained with earth and grass,
and we have a deep love for what we have accomplished,
for how peaceful the shade garden is,
how the mulch adds a coolness to the rock garden,
and how we work so well together as a team
the young gardener and me, an aging woman.”

Bittersweet

Bittersweet              

A Perfect Storm

Once a six month storm tore at her shutters
a hot and turbulent wind
pummeled the untanned hide that sheltered the door of a dark cave
wherein lived one of the world’s most illiterate hearts.

As she allowed the wind to help her dance in the trees
Her toughened pelt became soft as velvet
and as pliable as priceless leather
limp, whipped and limber.

In the aftermath of the thrashing torrent
tears kept her hardness soft
and as she walked in the forest
she saw Bittersweet
strewn on the path under her feet
and she rested with her eyes wide open.

©Carole Fults photo and poem

Periwinkle Wild Flowers

periwinkle wild flowers_edited-1

Periwinkle wild flowers
dying now
Drifting on the wind
a chickadee sings her winter song
Knowing I will also die
I listen.

©Carole Fults