30 JUNE 2023

 

30 JUNE 2023

When I have nothing

going in morning garden

prune tiny branches

Jim Bodeen

30 June 2023

HERE SHE IS

 

HERE SHE IS

The beauty of the morning is here

but I haven’t found it yet.

I found my bicycle gloves

in yard bin first thing

just where I’d thrown them yesterday

after my ride, when I stopped

to prune some branches

from the flowering Kwanzan Cherry

before putting my bike away.

I’m stopped before the Kwanzan

again right now. Straightening

from beneath the tree

a pruned knob gashes my head.

Ouch. Retreating to the fountain porch

I mist the Japanese Maple and Little Cherry Twist

cooling theporch as I anticipate

Karen’s rising into day.

Jim Bodeen

28 June 2023

FOUNTAIN SONG

 

FOUNTAIN SONG

Walking the morning yard

greeting trees, looking at new leaves

I set my red cup

on the white stone

beside the slender

Hinoki Cypress

Minutes later

I’m as lost as that cup

standing under

Korean Pear Tree

after ringing the bell

by the Southern Gate

Jim Bodeen

23 June 2023

THE CENTER OF ALWAYS*

 

THE CENTER OF ALWAYS*

Karen’s morning porch

Fountain chuckling, Josh mowing

Summer’s joy garden

Jim Bodeen

16 June 2023

*from a phrase by Brother David Steindl-Rast,

You Are Here, p. 84. ©2023

THANK GOD IT'S FRIDAY

 

THANK GOD IT’S FRIDAY

    Heavens’s waters in God’s imagination…

    Paul Simon, Seven Psalms

Light summer rain,

cushions wet on the deck

and I put on a jacket

thinking I can stay dry

under the canopy of trees--

but the notebook gets wet,

looking around, it’s dry

under Autumn Blaze

but now I’m too close

to the bird feeder

and I’ve forced

the finches back up high

in the twin Hornbeams.

Karen’s moved to her chair

in the living room, still sleeping.

Off the bicycle now,

writing resurrection poems

in common time, I’ve had

my hearing aids checked out

and cleaned at Costco

while picking up two watermelons

for Father’s Day. I’m one of the ones

for whom the nachos are being prepared,

doubling up, both Dad and Grandpa,

when I get home two granddaughters

sit at kitchen table drawing.

I’ve set a bag of lemons

and a bag of limes on the counter.

Before I start the sugar water

on the stove I glance at Katie’s work.

She’s using water color pencils

to paint yellow tulips

in front of her window sill.

She knows how to shade

and her free-hand window

is a piece of time. Tulip stems

disappear in the water-filled vase

and how she makes that movement

in water, I can’t know, yet it makes

the glass in her window shimmer.

My lime-lemonade is tart

for all of us. I’ve cut some cold

chicken to go with a sleeve

of saltines. Dheezus, Katie,

Grandma, me. We slake our thirst

on a small table on the deck.

That bicycle ride around the development,

that was early, but I can’t

for the life of me, tell you which day.

Jim Bodeen

9 June 2023

ALL FIXED UP

 

ALL FIXED UP

    Even when we don’t desire it,

    God is ripening.

        Rilke, The Book of A Monastic Life, I,16

After the For Sale sign came down,

his wife told him how much the house

had sold for. He didn’t ask her

how she knew, but then

the painters came, and after that,

the U-Haul. He saw them unpacking

as he rode by on his bicycle,

wondering how they’d like it, house

all fixed up like that. And he saw

the husband, the wife, and two children

that first night in the driveway.

I’ll bake them some cookies,

he said to himself,

and put a couple seedling maples

in a pot, write them a note,

which is what he did. His note

said, Your children

might enjoy growing with these trees,

but don’t worry about it

if trees aren’t your thing,

and enjoy the cookies. He noticed,

then, the wisteria had been torn out,

and the roses, too, were gone.

Maybe he said, Uh-oh, under his breath,

as he rang the doorbell. Following

the chimes, a voice answered

like a telephone operator putting

him on hold, before a man

opened the door, asking him

what he wanted. You shouldn’t have,

he said, but thanks. He felt dumb

holding the trees, knowing

all arrangements here were temporary.

Even the man at the door was embarrassed

taking the cookies, saying Thank you.

He didn’t say anything to his wife

walking home. He had no way

to tell her about leaving those trees

he had nursed through two winters.

His note to the neighbors felt so false.

Jim Bodeen

3-6 June 2023