homesteading poetry

Alone, except the birdsong, the birdcall

the birds the birds the birds

in a flutter flutter flutter

declaring

summer, summer, summer

Watering with the warm six a.m. air suggests afternoon scorching sun.

The blue birds, fighter pilots flyby,

then again

and again

and again

figure eights past the verandah

search for a home, fly to amuse me

fly then perch, fly then perch,

disappear.

Yoga on the lawn,

stretch and commune, stretch and breathe, stretch to touch the blue

lay on the lawn,

stare at clouds on a conveyor,

moving moving slowly moving.

Blue painted can of rolled newspaper tied to a tree

waiting for mason bees to occupy,

wait for buzz buzz buzz

dazzling the neighbour stamen with belly flops.

Bamboo poles tripod,

patient…waiting…patient…

as crawling pea shoots, bean shoots, cucumbers vines

as pumpkin starts, butternut starts, watermelon starts

creep creep

creeping over bare soil, greening the ground, greening the poles.

Water and weed,

bend and water and weed,

scrape the weeds, scrape,

pick the weeds, toss into basket,

water the plants, pull the weeds

low back cramped, upper back sore,

but one more weed, move the sprayer,

find another weed,

move the sprayer,

oh just one more weed,

and another.

Feel the earth through gloved fingers, pull the earth from fingernails, scrub garden feet

Move the earth, create the earth, help the Creator.