June poems

Some of these may not be done yet, but they’re done for now. Enjoy!

Hounds

Down the canyon
baying of hounds
Sunday morning excursion.
Our dogs bark
alarm.

The gardener

A garden isn’t so big a task
take a careful look
at what you’ve got
prune clean up
move things about
discard what you don’t like
what doesn’t like being
add things you find
beautiful pay attention
watch what happens
water when needed
look out for bugs
move plants about again
when they don’t work
when they don’t like
where they’re at
each day play a bit
in the garden
if you feel like it
nothing else needs done
before long your garden
has grown up around you.

If you hardly ever
find yourself in the mood
guess you’re not a gardener.

The practice

This morning’s practice —

read a bit
too restless to sit
drift in the garden

transplant
caña india
plug a hole in the fence
set out
walking iris
bind a bare slope
rescue
philodendron
snapped digging caña

river babble
birdsong
butterflies

Mañana

Sometimes you can’t find
time to write you have to
fix coffee put yourself together
drop off the car at the shop
fix breakfast bowl of fruit
a piece of meat waiting in the refer
to be cut up roast bones boil reduce
stock for some future sauce
and in the garden something
demanding immediate attention
while the gardener’s here
and there’s a chair to repair
and a dehumidifier part to find
and then fix lunch
tacos and a salad and after
take the bus to the bank
pick up the car and
before you know it
growing dark day gone
time for a drink, dinner
early to bed.

Mañana.

Saying goodbye

A little luncheon
farewell for friends
worsted by time
stairs steep hills
this time not too far
Rincon de Salas
terrain less taxing.

Always someone
leaving for some reason
death, or illness
back to the States
for care, or to care
for an ailing
mother, father.
Or one still feels
a foreigner
many years passing.
Or fitting in anywhere
another off looking
for another adventure.

Always new faces
to take their place
new friends, new stories.
A gringo house doesn’t
stay empty for long.

Already
we’re becoming
the old timers.

Sunset

Day’s birth
greeted by euphony
chatter and song.

Day’s end
heavens ripple fire
all fall silent.

 

Summer solstice

Stir fry sizzling in the kitchen
sun straight across flaming
and fading through creeping fog
dropping behind San Luis ridge
as close to Poas as it ever gets
summer solstice
passing unnoticed.

Little summer

Drizzle faint through the night
wetting the ground once again
after a fortnight barely
enough moisture to measure
day breaks overcast afternoon
no thunder or storm —

A little interlude
little summer.

Green morning sounds

Weed whacker hum
on coffee slopes
drone of creek swollen.
Tractor throb
trailer dragging
tomatoes up the trail.
Truck belch stretches
over hills from
somewhere in the distance.
Two-honk passage
of the bus marks
passing of the hour.
Always, rising
whistle call
boat-billed flycatchers.

Cordero

Whole lamb neatly
man-slaughtered hung
by furry heels behind
refrigerator glass.
Wrapped in an old sheet
thrown into the back
of a fourby quick
trip to a butcher in Sarchi.
Limbs cleaved off clean
neck sawed into slices
backbone down middle and through
raw chunks thrown into black sacks.
Then there on the kitchen table
trimmed and wrapped
roasts racks legs chops stew
ribs for the smoker
scraps for the dogs.

Pura vida

1.

Machines make my head ache.
Chain saw weed whacker hedge trimmer
indisposed to start, run right
then there’s the racket.
Car transmission
doesn’t like reverse.
Dehumidifier control unit
born defective.
Electronics freaking out
with the lightening.

2.

The dogs put up a fuss
about a bath but
skin rash vet says
so once a week
leashed down to utility room
all together naked
under a warm shower
suds up scrub rinse
hair clogging the drain
toweling off they love
shaking rolling in the dirt
and after they’re air dry
push each other out of the way
for brushing and combing.

3.

Sharpen your machete.
Walk take a bus.
Paint your walls green.
Pay your bills at the soda.
Get a dog.