Some weeds are nourishing, and some medicinal;
Some are beautiful, colorful, and downright flowery;
And yet others, even those that pop up one fine morning
as the tiniest innocent young sprouts of green —
are relentless, run riot, and are one hundred and ten percent determined as @#!% to @#!% up your @#!% yard if it @#!% kills the @#!% both of you!
desert
It’s a dry heat streak
full moon monsoon clouds
glow pale light through windy trees
parched leaves shadow dance
Desert winter storm
tiny icy hail
falls slantwise through streaming sun
melting to rainbow
Night haze
The moon shines
into the dirty desert air
with a rusty opal halo —
Scorpius has lost his way
behind the thin clouds,
city glare, smoke, dust —
His heart shines in some far
better place — but not here
in this smoggy summer.
A dash of heat
All other seasons in Phoenix are just hyphenated summers:
Poems that stick with me
Watering the hibiscus
this afternoon —
its weary
parched-green leaves
wilting
in this too-early April heat —
I saw a gecko
who
climbed up the side
of the splintering planter box.
My first split-second
thought —
Alice Walker’s garden gecko.
Crouching,
perfectly still —
the both of us —
I stared at it
and took in
the wonder
of it all.
It didn’t move —
was it asking
for some water?
This bliss,
it was my Paradise.
Gray, rough-coated
nature —
staring right back at me
a foot from my face.
Slowly I moved the hose
just an inch in its direction.
Walker — I’d already
named it Walker —
disappeared so fast
I didn’t even see
it go.
I wish it would’ve stayed.
I had water to give
and troubles
to wash clean.
referencing my favorite Alice Walker poem — “Going Out to the Garden,” 2011, in The World Will Follow Joy: Turning Madness Into Flowers, 2013
Spring’s sure well-done over, at 100°
Poetic words flow much better in pleasant climes—
Springtime and autumn, more friendly for rhymes
Winter’s good too, we self-reflect well in cold times
But blazing summer melts words & numbs minds!
Poem of the April Palo Verde
Yellow.
Freaking.
Everywhere.
Shrewd
cactus is not cruel
it is just so damn thirsty
you’d be prickly too
Idling
lizard of leisure
idler in sun — bird shadow
how quickly he moves
Forgotten
Desert: a piece of Earth that God forgot to water.
—Terri Guillemets
Summer saguaro
With fruity-fingered arms, I hug the sky.
