what is this sound sprinkling glow
yellow doilies weaving thru blue
fescue glass chandelier worm atrium
air city surf gas soup & jazz salad
sitting under dwarf apple waiting,
waiting, wanting nothing save
green this wait as Thoreau’s
Wangle Dangle backyard rhetoric
drinking can of Okanagan
Spring: “natural, simple, & pure”
pale ale & all bronze
gone Henry’s lawn
this dog’s lair
cut once a year
then go to seed
rampant & wild
tainted ear
so much depends upon so little
take this green garden wagon
for example
go on, take it, really take it
grab the handle and pull
you’ll see the wagon is full
of ripe red tomatoes
kids’ toys
bucket of finished garlic
bowl of basil & cilantro
some zinnias to dry inside
there’s no one in that pink
ceramic bird house hanging
from the golden rain
tree imagine living
there your nest
waiting for your mate
come home yr turn
go to store & supper
you call the kids
Caw! Caw!
& they call back
Not Yet! Not Yet!
Summer! Summer!
a cloud like a clown down
pillow on clean blue sheet
perhaps it will drop a load
somewhere near soon &
sweep weep sleep deep
The Coming of the Toads 
Hi! Joe
Calling the kids ‘Caw caw’ – a mother’s plea.
Was that a ‘Red wheelbarrow’?
B
Hey, B! Nice to hear from you again. Yes, it was a red wheelbarrow, but here it’s morphed into a green wagon. “Simplicity, simplicity, simplicity,” Thoreau said, not so rhetorically simply.
Ah! Morphemes. Where would a red wheel barrow be with out?
Form, yes…
suddenly comes to me, you are in winter, not summer! hope all’s well down under…
Joe, 3*C and about to snow.
A long way from the lazy,hazy days of summer.
It seems our lives here are battling the elements and fighting for housing space with the possums.
I shld pay more attention. Heat wave here these last two weeks, subsiding somewhat now. Hopefully you can find some enjoyment in the snow. Could use some snow here at this point and time!
Fun rolling from the tongue …
And good to have B re-appear.
Yes, B in the middle of winter
out of retirement!
While I tongue torqued
try the blog for some spark.
For some reason this reminded me of Hopkins, especially the last verse.
Well, he’s good company.
For me, I think, the best! Just for the rolling of the tongue and the extraction of something from sound alone. Meaning and sound both entwined in the happenstance of rhythm and alliteration. Considered very unfashionable these days by the poetry police!
“shook foil…ooze of oil”
sense grows from sound