September 2018

The smell of fennel--
bees walk on yellow flowers,
smelling ocean air.

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Weeds and flowers,
wild fennel and iceplant--
occasional butterflies.

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Gulls cry a lot.
Summer's last hurrah--
Maybe they're hot.

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Peaceful walk--
except for the pebble
in my shoe.

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The ocean's edge
smells of weed and pee.
People sure fuck things up.

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Shimmering sea,
Indian Summer sun beats down--
a grebe floats alone.

Feeling guilty...

Feeling guilty,

she pulls up milk thistle 

by the root.

Two Senryu? Two Somethings.

Waking a cat --
a flurry of furry fear,
then the look of Death.

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My back hurts again.
The weeds in the garden
rejoice!

While pulling weeds...

While pulling weeds,
tired, clumsy hands
grab some flowers too.

A Sorta Kinda Haiku & a Sorta Kinda Tanka

Night comes, and
those little yellow flowers
have closed up shop.


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Tufts of green with
those little yellow flowers,
settled in the cracks
between pieces of gray cement--
and people call them weeds!