| The Seasons Snow is sneaky,
feathering down
without rain's
roar and rattle;
coming in silence
to hush the world.
—March 10,
1997
Seasonal Seduction
I mistrust March:
The irises and daffodils,
suckered into Spring
by a froward February
may soon find
they've just been
snowed.
—March 28, 1997
An April-Fool Snow:
The lilies and the asphodel,
Silently screaming "What the Hell?"
--4/1/97
Warm worms flowing
in the naked earth,
trailing the green season,
crumbling the drowsy soil.
—Spring
1977? (maybe earlier)
Empty-headed dandelions:
flower ghosts
becoming stars.
Flowers are shameless:
spreading themselves
for any passing bee.
—June
11, 1996
A bee’s work
must age him.
By the time
he came out of that flower,
he had turned white.
—July/Aug ‘94
A bee grazed my head
and flew right off again,
finding no nectar.
—Sept ‘94
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Ivan's Poems Page 1
Email Ivan.
I coughed behind the mower today:
I could be developing an allergy
to new-mown grass, if
my luck improves.
—Summer '94
When I turned the mower off
I thought I heard applause:
Just rustling leaves and
thwapping sprinklers--sounds
I’d thought were silence
before I rended them.
—October '94
With time enough,
I wouldn't have to
rake these leaves:
The beetles I'm disturbing
would take care of it.
—Oct.
10, '94
With mournful slowness
summer's fast-chirping crickets
usher in the Fall.
—October
1, 1997
At 8, the sun's still low:
It's cloudy. Chilly. Fall.
And yet a morning-glory nods its head
as if to say, "Yep.
There's still bees about."
—Fall,
'94
For a quiet suburban Saturday,
past mowing season,
it was some commotion:
I slipped out to see
two wavering vees
of rippling bird-shapes
overhead. I'm sure
they'd have passed over me
when I was in the city--but
unheard, unseen.
—Fall,
'94
In the moonlight,
a circle of lawn furniture
keeps ghostly conference
in the snow.
—February 9, 1997
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