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Tuesday, April 16, 2024

 

SPRING

Into warmth
Let your senses run a little wild
Freed from winter's coop

There is a string attached
Though loosely tied
You must fuss and "Ooh"
O'er all the new  


See the lace?
Look through the buds, seeds 
And hints of leaves

Blooms in sequence
Splash the greening yards and trees 
While winter's shut-ins gather at the fence  

You do realize  
Intro's from this emcee
Bring summer's earnest greenery
The need to make hay
Photosynthesize while we may

The time will come 
Again next fall
To enjoy the view
For now, your thumb,
How green?
Summer has its eye on you



DRK

5/2/17

Monday, April 8, 2024

 

MOLLY IN THE GARDEN

'Tis spring
Molly is in Florida
Visiting mom and dad

And her flowers

The ones that wintered there
Did not like the cold
Had no time for dormancy

(Their snowbird trek last fall --
Still a mystery) 

In Orlando
Nana and Boppa kept them busy
Preened and green
Let them strut their stuff

Now spring's hints 
Of summer's southern heat
Have led them to consider 

A retreat 

Molly timed her visit 
To return them to their summer digs
Back home, on her knees
She will fluff their dirt
And address them in their flower-ese

In no time they'll respond
And, I predict, astound
Their Michigan fans

Should you be one
Be sure to take note of their Florida tans

DRK
4/11/08
4/24/17


        

 

THE KITCHEN TRUCK

Alyssa and Hannah, aged three and four
Traveled to a lake shore camp ground
In a kitchen truck
Where daddy hooked up lights and heat
Hosed in water and hosed out muck.


A campsite, complete with acorn marbles
     To rain on our roof
     And cover the woods
With breakfast for the wild turkeys 
That joined us for bacon and eggs
     Though only the dog and Hannah saw
     The animals with just two legs.     


It was spring
And exploring the woods was the thing to do
Marinas, sight-seeing, dams?  Too adult
The kids wanted to collect
Bugs and worms



Outside into the cool, 
Back in to the heat
Boots on, socks off
Dirty feet, cold feet
Comings and goings became the rule


When rain kept us inside
Grandma’s stories brought snugglers to her side.
“Meme, will you  make another lap
So that I can sit there too?”


What was the big hit, 
our favorite?

Setting our clothes on fire 
with campfire sticks?
     What a laugh that brought                             
Seeing live catfish?
     Are these the fish that cats eat?
The place with the rocks and dead people?
     Definitely not

To our kids 
Feeling the soft fur of a dead deer 
Could not be beat.                   


Dennis R. Keefe
May 7, 2004
March 20, 2016

 

SPRING ASSERTS ITSELF

 

Every spring, every fall

This dynamic duo works fast

For a month or two

Changing the rules

 

Winter and fall, hauled away

Now, lawns to mow

Things to grow

 

Look at what’s coming up

Do you remember planting all those bulbs?

The clematis, fantastic

Roses, racing along

Must speed into bouquets

Before they become buds

Of prey 

 

Hanging baskets, for sure

New seeds.  What?  Where?

Petunias in the sun

Impatiens in the shade

Most I cannot name

 

Carole, spring’s enabler

Will give you the tour

Including the transplanted

Dependable hostas

 

All summer, attend we must

New plants and transplants

Old bird baths

A hummingbird feeder

Locate, clean, keep them going

 

And, of course, the birds

Cued by warming winds

Their intense songs

Announce new broods

 

Could you use an old paver?

Once a patio

Help yourself

Take a dozen

 

Carole’s hidden garden

Has a pagoda

To me, Zen

 

DRK

6/13/22

Friday, April 5, 2024

 

                                       TRAVELS TO THE SUN

 

A Midwestern ode to those Metros who slog

south . . . to find sun

wasting distemper shots on their dogs;

and

to those special few whose homespun grace

helped us learn

that Spring is more than a sunny place.

 

Expectations were high!

         It was March . . . and Spring was due

                  . . . on the calendar.

         de jure,

         If NOT de facto

 

We decided to act . . . to

         . . . Tampa with the temps,

         hit the trail, and travel back to

                  a Florida place . . . called Saddle Ranch.

 

We traveled south,

         left the FRIENDLY Midwest,

                  drove through southern HOSPITALITY . . .

         . . . and seemed to overshoot our mark.

 

For, while the weather said, “Tropical,”

         we met some kiesters,

         chill-winded Nor’easters,

                  who blew in with a cloud

                  covered Spring with a pall,

                           and fostered ill-will . . .

                           . . . and loud noises.

               

For suddenly sun had sounds:

         Horn blasts . . .

Making beach life feel like home,

         home on the RANGE,

                  home on the FIRING range . . .

                           of a city intersection.

 

Want to get picked off in the cross-fire

                  of honking horns and honked off drivers?

Ease away from a stop light.

 

It got worse.

 

Horns, not deadly or personal, enough

         Were focused . . . by loud

 

people . . . creating a din

         spewed from urban

                  lives spent wrestling crowds,

                           where rowdies

                           have their way every day.

 

         “You idiot!  Can’t you read the signs?”

         “F--- you, genius!”

         “I’ll Call the cops!”

         Enter more horns — cum blasto!

 

No wonder the crowds spit them out

         and sent them south,

                  bumper to bumper

                  blasting away

                  shooting lip from the hip

                           mile after mile

                           wild west style . . .

 

                  . . . until they settled

                           into their ruts,

                                    repeating the retorts

                                             transplanted,

                           where sand dragged them to a stop in the sun,

                                    adding outside burns

                                             to their inside ovens,                                      

                           extending to others

                                    their hellish hot city covens. 

                          

It’s possible that this was all too much                

for a first-time snowbird

         unseasoned, senses askew,

                  over-hyped illusions

unable to generate enough internal personal spring

to tune out the cacophony.

 

There may have been poetry in the voices there

Some were trying to communicate,

but they were strangers

and they seemed insistent

on trying to communicate via their cars

 

         we seem capable of merging lanes,

but not people

         traveling enclosed

                                                               in dueling vehicles.   

 

No wonder roads rage.

 

We did finally hit our mark,

         our Mark and Tracy Spring,

                  complete with alligator . . . and darts.

 

         Host and hostess

         with the “sodas” —

                  not the “pop” —

         drinks and paella all around —

                  it never stopped.

Was it warm?

         on the porch

         by the pool

                  anywhere we were.

And were we cool?               

         all, way cool,

                  especially when the cameras came out.

 

There was Hannah

         with or without a banana;

Emily and Alyssa never missed a

         cheesecake opportunity.

Uncles, aunts, moms and dads,

grandmothers and papa

friends, dogs,

Brie’s monologs.

 

We finally located spring

. . . in the midst of what we were doing.

 

 

Dennis Keefe,

3/25/03

 

WHITHER SPRING?

In late March Michigan?
Not quite
But taking seasonal liberties
With a road trip just might 

It had been a long Michigan winter
Our standards, not very high

Passing a Waffle House near Indianapolis
Said "south" to me

Further down, a Cracker Barrel
It's fireplace with no fire

Well, what says "warm" to you?

Probably daffodils

I saw buses
Volleyball teams
Baseball teams
Kids on spring break forays
Stressing the limits
Of motel breakfast buffets

Then it began to dawn on me
My efforts to seek spring
May be less consequential
Than spring’s efforts to find me

Phalanxes of flowers were heading north
Marching. forest-wide
Flying colors to tout their mission,
Spring's annual migration
Breaking winter’s hold
On a cold, colorless countryside  

First came the redbuds
Showing the dogwoods the way
The youngest and freshest in the lead
Their elders lagging behind
Trying for one more year
To maintain their game

The destination? 
I think, questionable
The word was,
Succeeding too well
Might get you into someone’s yard

A somber choice
Continue the adventure north
Or remain wild

DRK
5/20/19