It was likely necessary to begin mowing the grass again last week, but today the day is most certainly here. Someone's been hinting at it. It's shin high in some patches, barren in others, and there's a certain something else, fluffy and purplish that I rather like, despite what others may say. It sets off the dandelion very well, so it shall stay. I know it disturbs that one guy with the more antiseptic looking lawn to see me mow around the dandelion, but yellow delights me. So, bring on sun and Spring, and fluffy yellow things, that go well with that purple stuff, and to you good neighbor, "Good day!" He may not like it this way but that rusty chain link between us has served us well these many years. And though he tears into any creeping vine I may let borders go to morning glorious blue, he cannot shoo this spirit of morning dew today, dripping in all its Spring glory, soaking the newly planted seeds of an upcoming soon to challenge his sterile, unpolluted world.

Pushing up, seedling oak knows not what bastion it becomes
I won't **** what's around it
Seeing it as tower of strength it is
Potential can only toughen when the rose begins to tack on
One day this fortress oak's shade may hinder this rose's bloom
And that day I will not know, nor care for
For that is another gardener's quandary

Or for the rose to find its own way
Into the light

Constancy is no more, it jabs an antonym
Dependability on only what elongates ache
Spasms cordiality that is nearly lost memory
There is a mechanism of biology unforgiving
This black box jocose
Laughing at ruination
Temptation to dive forward into flames
Rather than run
Unfailingness, ends are eventual
Everything is spotted with its departure
When you're seeing your own

Needing no explanation, whispers disquiet
And the wind whispers quite ravingly
It tells torture of falling leaves to ground
Of simple browns that go unnoticed
Amongst golds, maroons, and half greens
That scintillate the eyes otherwise
And this Autumn looks forward to Winter
And death

Deciduous brown trunks and limbs
Stark against snowfall soon
Which dusts all evergreens
Telling them
Hold on until Spring
Yet, for the deciduous
Not all shall see through
This bitter cold that comes

There's something I need to say
in resolved alliance with communicable insanity
Particulars are of no interest to me
Neither are excuses
What's worried me are your uses
and aloofness to them
"How is it," you say, "are the bonds between us
that give us sanctity?"
I say, "No no, mincing words with the poet
will do you more harm than
you already believe you suffered"
So, please
find yourself at ease
and suffer no longer
You are free to go

Love addicts,
High from a single touch,
Trembling from a single kiss,
Sighing for what might be
Could be, and should be,
Hooked into our own groove,
For I am your drug,
And you, sweet woman,
You are totally mine,
As we lust for a fix,
Lost within a vertiginous miasma,
Reeling from a passion that sates,
So blissfully satisfying, and yet,
Also leaves us wanting more,
So much more that we ache,
Cast adrift upon an ocean,
One previously unknown,
The swells heaving,
The currents swirling,
Tides of wanton desire,
Surf crashing over us poor,
Love addicts.

©Paul M Chafer 2017

Summer, with rains swelling like a Tolstoy story
of men sent to war, of bravery and cowardice,
of man questioning putting himself in harm's way,
who, what influences your pouring?
Cloud bursts and cracking skies lit by bolts of wonder,
of uncertainty, of suspicion,
do you feel the feeling of self-preservation
or of self-implosion?
Does justice consequently actualize in your humidity,
in your ideology of warm front meets cold front confrontations?
Sizzle summer, then pour.
Make the wheat germ swell and fields flourish
for in some other part of the world,
some other farmer's crops are failing
and this is what leads to war.