Pulsing Cicadas emboss Sunflowers
Trapunto, over dusty
tired ivies
Helios’ Chariot chars
burgundy Dahlias
unraveling their light.
Pastel Hibiscus wilt beyond
bleached Rose.
Stiff reefs of electric
Globe Thistle lap by
parched grasses.
Geranium beams
roast Baby’s Breath
Foxglove, Echinacea
While molten smoldering Petunias
pierce through, over and over.
Monthly Archives: August 2010
Hummingbird by Wilco
Hummingbird by Wilco (Jeff Tweedy songwriter)
his goal in life was to be an echo
riding alone, town after town, toll after toll
a fixed bayonet through the great southwest
to forget her
she appears
in his dreams
but in his car, and in his arms
a dream could mean anything
a cheap sunset on a television set could upset her
but he never could
remember to remember me
standing still in your past
floating fast like a hummingbird
his goal in life was to be an echo
the type of sound that floats around
and then back down like a feather
but in the deep chrome canyons of the loudest Manhattans
no one could hear him
or anything
so he slept, on a mountain
in a sleeping bag underneath the stars,
he would lie awake and count them
but the great fountain spray of the great Milky Way
would never let him
die alone
remember to remember me
standing still in your past
floating fast like a hummingbird
remember to remember me
standing still in your past
floating fast like a hummingbird
a hummingbird
a hummingbird
What I am learning about my ageing parents from my 20 year old cat
I haven’t posted here in a long, long time. Most of my attention is now devoted to writing for my professional clarinet blog, The Buzzing Reed. DavidHThomas.net
Sometimes I just want to write something non-clarinet or music oriented.
My parents are miraculously still alive. My mother is 88, and my father is 83.
Each is declining in their own special way, with moments of breakthroughs mixed with the general trend toward the end of their lives.
I also have a cat named Punker, who is 20 in September. I cannot imagine him going. He has been with me for almost half my life. I raised him as a pre-weened kitten, only one week old. His mother died of toxemia because she had another baby inside her which did not birth.
I had to bottle feed Punker with a special kitten milk. I also had to rub his tummy (to simulate the mother licking him) to stimulate his urine to go, and eventually, to encourage a bowel movement!!
I don’t want to write the whole story now, because it’s midnight, and I need to eat (dinner) and go to bed. But I’ll post more about Punker’s wonderful life in the next few weeks.
David Thomas (aka Garnet)