Hi Ku Cat

three hands or five
at work in tandem with the bees' warm song
low and soft and slow
sweet labours
sun on our backs
crumbled soil at our fingers
hills green and trees
growing greener by the hour I swear
rain on the way
and twbb growing a bark

we absorb the sun and the green and the honey song
love converts them to nourish the core of us

this
is my kind of religion

how big can a heart grow?
 
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some dates are bigger than others
in all kinds of ways
pencil it in
the allow plans to coalesce around it
ideas in orbit
waiting to land
 
Thunder boom, Ku scoots,
hella fire to the chicken house,
idle speed,
white knuckles next tha lever,
takes it to hyper drive,
Waterchild grin like a fool,
good lesson
 
The next few days are the test,
lows drop close to freezing,
just a few degrees between A-Okay and replant
 
There's French toast cooking,
my nose tests the air,
no scent of bacon
..
Bolognese tonight,
not quite spaghetti but nice,
red wine and the hankering to understand
all those words bubbling off those lips
red with sauce
 
Yellow cat up the drive,
mouse in teeth yet still alive,
wine, dine, then song,
dinner and a show,
awakening from a dream long schlepped,
just as lovely as the imaginings all those years ago.
 
well i din't kill him yet
and we unstuck the mower
bogged in the mud of days down by the run off
down by the stone mail box built by his own hands
and i steered a course clear back to the yard
jus' me 'n' the pickup
stood watching his progress from the porch
saw he'd gotten mired again
walked down the hill
back up again hand in hand
the chickens eyeing our progress but
too cool to move from
the shady spot under the bush
home for coffee 'n' bacon
a kiss
a mulling over
a spot of news and the magic of pixels

and now
before the sun gets too fierce
time to move on....
 
yesterday
country stylin'
a gold band and goats
plans for ducks
and i know which fired his interest
more

still
goats'll cut down on the mowin'
right?
right

:D
 
well i din't kill him yet
and we unstuck the mower
bogged in the mud of days down by the run off
down by the stone mail box built by his own hands
and i steered a course clear back to the yard
jus' me 'n' the pickup
stood watching his progress from the porch
saw he'd gotten mired again
walked down the hill
back up again hand in hand
the chickens eyeing our progress but
too cool to move from
the shady spot under the bush
home for coffee 'n' bacon
a kiss
a mulling over
a spot of news and the magic of pixels

and now
before the sun gets too fierce
time to move on....

yesterday
country stylin'
a gold band and goats
plans for ducks
and i know which fired his interest
more

still
goats'll cut down on the mowin'
right?
right

:D
..
Well at last, looking out of the same window,
the last two days full to burst,
we grow as the garden,
goats need fences,
due to their propensity to eat,
anything green
..
truths told,
I dinna build that box,
but I watched every stone set,
by a man of a man known for such,
a fair job done by all,
then and today
 
well i din't kill him yet
and we unstuck the mower
bogged in the mud of days down by the run off
down by the stone mail box built by his own hands
and i steered a course clear back to the yard
jus' me 'n' the pickup
stood watching his progress from the porch
saw he'd gotten mired again
walked down the hill
back up again hand in hand
the chickens eyeing our progress but
too cool to move from
the shady spot under the bush
home for coffee 'n' bacon
a kiss
a mulling over
a spot of news and the magic of pixels

and now
before the sun gets too fierce
time to move on....

and now the trucks stuck up near the base of the hill,
and I've got bitches few but fervent, well,
maybe not few, not enough to maim,
plenty to annoy when dwelled upon,
all domain related
..
 
coffee and birdsong dawn
blue-bright promise of white-gold afternoons
of relief to be found
in damp, thick loam
chlorophyll and weeping sugars
beneath the thick canopy
high on a hill
where the air rolls slow
an old green stream lost in its meanderings
mulling over long-forgotten secrets
time set aside
on somnolent drones






...well
not all promises are kept
and white-gold grows leaden
as out in the garden
sweat's unable to cool
too humid for evaporation's boon
but the worms toil
through red clay
without complaint
purple heroes with no song of their own
no wings, no aspirations to fly
spared the fish hook for their due diligence - today
 
the dancing trees

King and Queen amidst late April's court
they pose; a sloping lush of lawn become ballroom
that comes alive beyond the eyes of men
with only small night-things their witnesses.

Dressed in their finest, regal ivy robes
she curtsies to his bow, refined, gallant,
inviting her to dance some stately trot
when dew hangs heavy on each verdant blade.

I'd wish a night's forsaken, muddied dreams
to watch their splendid, leafy, merry makes;
their hair astrung with twinkling fiery lights;
to hear the trembling tones of moon-time's choir.

Breeze stirs the great green court to restless life
emitting sighs, impatient for their fun.
If sweet repose should close my waking eyes
do you suppose they'd dance beneath the sun?
 
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Base Camp, elevation 828 ft.

Lady Ku was miffed,
damned Waterchild,
run amok with the lawn chopper,
high above the house, 'neath the first of the forest trees,
ruined the bower she was constructing,
wild rose, yew and blackberries,
all full to break with springs blooms and now,
ragged with crushed saplings, petal showered,
the faulty gardener, repentant, contrite,
pledges the rest of the woods to make it right
 
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''things appear closer in the mirror''
it states
and given my spatial fuckuppery
when it comes to left, right, forward of back,
in reverse
that's not so very helpful
but i managed to steer a curling course
around the tree
from gate
around and inbetween said tree and
rusty metal hood
back and forth from workshop
to barbed wire fence
i'd been told had been installed without permission
by some cow-keeper renting pasture
and stayed well clear of the small sink holes
ma'am's flower bed and the blueberry bushes.

never hit a thing.

to date
the lilac by the garage has been
sole victim of my learning curve -
and it's not pressing charges.
 
The hood's all I have left from a '49 Chevy truck,
classic cover for the bush hog.
..
Driving indoctrination proceeding apace
Soul meld melting for a new alloy
I wish I could understand better
but the words come so fast
 
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She backed and backed then attacked,
the poor wild cherry,
saved from the gang of yew n honeysuckle,
iconic warped topiary, wounded,
 
The sun no longer rules the sky,
shadows cross the fence,
chores let go midday recommence,
ground un-sprouted cleared again,
turned, coddled, set for rain and planting,
she waters until cant see,
we ghost to where a good boy waits
behind an unseen line
 
If I were a car of truck,
not an airplane,
no such luck,
I'd imagine there'd be tons of rust,
dented fenders, worn out tires,
chrome dull and windows dusty,
so many miles and wrecks,
still running, just not as fast
 
If I were a car of truck,
not an airplane,
no such luck,
I'd imagine there'd be tons of rust,
dented fenders, worn out tires,
chrome dull and windows dusty,
so many miles and wrecks,
still running, just not as fast

if you were a truck
or car
i could walk the lot looking
at the newer models
shiny in their chrome and paintjobs
and still not desire to get behind their wheels
a truck with history on its bodywork
seats a little battered
buckets and baskets behind the front seats
filled with the useful and obscure
the aroma of history, more miles than we'd care to admit
a bit sharp on the brakes sometimes
but reliable
trustworthy
knowing you're gonna get me where i need
as i settle back into the upholstery
turn your key
listen to you gently roar
easy on the gas
 
treasure hunting
after the deluge
and we struck it rich
rubies and emeralds
opals and fiery topaz
the deep chocolate brown
offering all we could need
 
..
(new potato, broccoli, garlic, tomato. :rolleyes: )

the broccoli and tomato were satisfying in a different sort of way - we'd watched them developing and changing hue; but the potatoes? those ruby gems! and those garlic bulbs? such opals... but best of all, the first sight, the first eyes, to see the fresh red skins of our homegrown spuds. so exciting! so pretty! you with the fork, straining, lifting, the earth cracking apart... our fingers parting the upheaven soil, seeking its treasures, discovering more still nestled snug beneath the stems.... :heart:
 
How fast the week flew;
the memory of the tasks dim as new begin and end,
all day picture shows,
Saturday play in concrete,
Sunday prayers in the garden,
laying between the rows weeding damp ground,
spirit puddled,
determination,
unbound.
 
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