May 2022

we mark time
with numbers, naming
circles, lines–
converged
and then divided—each month
we begin again,

ending the
previous parcel
of days in
our minds—when
in fact they overlap—clouds,
sun, showers, flowers

A small shadorma chain for Colleen’s Tanka Tuesday theme of beginnings and endings, picked by Yvette M. Calleiro. I meant to do something completely different with the circles of flowers I cut out, and perhaps I’ll explore that idea later. I got distracted with layering them in different ways.

When I was out walking yesterday I discovered a community garden on West 90th Street–full of tulips. I’ll be visiting it again, to see what’s in bloom in the coming months.

Urban Assembly School for Green Careers Garden (Thursday Doors)

The city is full of sudden plantlife, unexpected oases surrounded by buildings, sidewalks, streets, schools, gates.  A potted plant outside a doorway, a vibrant treewell, a median full of flowers, a community garden.  A classroom for curious students, a delight for the eyes of a walker, a home for busy squirrels, chattering birds.

colors change between
here and now—they are only
made of light you know—

each shining moment has waves–
none of them ever repeat

I’ve photographed this beautiful gate and looked inside at the garden many times, but I never knew anything about it until I stopped and read the sign on the Amsterdam Avenue side. To be fair, it’s partly covered by a tree branch, and the benches below it are often full of people chatting or just resting along their way. What I discovered is that it’s part of the high school down the block, the Urban Assembly School for Green Careers. An outdoor classroom! I like that idea.

The gate itself has wonderful details, reflecting the focus of the space inside.

The students evidently open the gates to the community on occasion to share both their knowledge and what they have grown. I will keep a lookout for announcements of such an occasion in neighborhood newsletters. You can read more about it here.

The poem is my first attempt at Tanka Prose, as prompted by Colleen for #TankaTuesday.

And here’s a look at Riverside Park, which has finally decided it’s Autumn in New York.

You can see more doors and join in Thursday doors yourself here.

Garden Paths

1
Green comes murmuring
between never and always

Secrets bloom

The trees know
every bird in its season,
how air flowers the wind,
why earth listens
to clouds
breathing

The Oracle gave me two responses to Sue Vincent’s garden prompt, above.  She was whispering “spring” in my ear.

2
We must breathe
in rhythm with time
as a vast open eternity

No need to remember
which stars awaken us
dancing like wildflowers
dazzled with perfumed song

We are but voices sailing
on wings of magic green fire

Enchanted Garden

Nina and I consulted the Oracle together this week.  We did our art independently, but the Oracle is always watching.

Now out to look at the blood moon!

Diamond rain crushing
the sky with shadow wind,
bitter like an ache–

Blood singing of moon storms–
languid music so still…

I want an enchanted garden
of madness and mist
to whisper through beauty–

 

Secret Garden

She
seeks her
center point,
eyes of the stars
calling, crying.  They
catch her throat.  She cannot
hear the fleeting glimpses, night
birds sounding indigo, feathers
holding metamorphosis.  But now

the flower has fallen. The raised hand
reaches on a whisper, snaking
through questions, labyrinthine.
Conjure thee O Hera:
invoke ancient song.
Transform what is
forbidden
into
fruit.

Jane Dougherty’s challenge this week was once again a painting (above) and the words:  indigo, cry, night bird, fleeting, forbidden

So here’s a woman, a garden, peacocks.  Peacocks are sacred to Hera, and a woman in a garden…just rethinking that story a bit.