Another February

February Remembers

Not one
February,
but two Februaries.
First one, then another passes;

parents.

Some months
go unnoticed

until February's
heavy heart sinks soft behind mine;

pounding.

My mother never wanted a headstone, but we put one down after my father passed (see below). Unfortunately, they engraved 1986 instead of 1976.

Romance to the Bitter End

My mother has no headstone. It was her last wish, and we obeyed. If she could see past the lavender satin and cherry mahogany wood of her coffin, roots would entwine her line of vision, spinning a web of life from the rose bushes planted above her.

cemetery plots

dot hills of green with white t's

mother has no cross

Before she heeded the angels' plea, she spent her days among tea roses which lined our walk. My father swore his coffee grounds gave her roses the much envied aroma of the neighborhood. Every morning, he'd carefully bury the remains of his dark roast beneath the already rich soil. My mother swore at the sight, protesting it was her banana peels which made her roses yawn at dawn and pray to the sun. She'd place the yellow face of Chiquita around the base of each bush like a Band-Aid; a sight which would cause my father to erupt with the laughter of an amused child.

blood-red black roses

rich as roasted espresso

sweet as bananas

On the 17th anniversary of my mother's death, my father planted the 17th rose bush above her coffin. On his knees in the bitter cold, thorns biting my father's hardened hands, he dug a hole deep enough to reach his heaven. He packed the soil with Italian roast and covered the roots with strips of bananas. And, there, like a wilted rose, he curled up and died, face to face with my mother.

this garden is full

it's time to come home to you

bitter sweetness blooms

Amazing Orange

Sunset's liquid fire

paints nature's canvas ablaze

dripping orange light

The Harvest Moon

Took this shot while boating on Tampa Bay - caught just as it was rising.

                                                                             
                                                                           Harvest Haiku

                                                                     harvest moon aglow
                                                                     surround seedlings spread anew
                                                                     nurturing bounty
                                                                         
                                                                   

August's First Full Moon

 Ghostly, like an October moon.

A rainbow protects the moon.

The moon disguised as the sun.

Northern Harrier Hawk Visiting for Breakfast

While Stopping By, A Snowy Pigeon

While passing through the deep dark blue 

to somewhere far away.

I stopped to rest my black-fringed wings;

your yard a perfect stay.

A Mourning dove sits on your fence 

and in the trees are Jays.

Cardinals swooping by are wary, 

and so am I, of they.

But now, I sit upon this wire,

and wait for break of day.

My flight takes me to places far.

Weary,  here's where I'll stay.

For in the morning and at night

the flightless look my way.

They marvel at my beauty white,

of them, I'm not afraid.

This male pigeon came to visit the snow pigeon. Snowy pigeon is now called Roxanne, and the male, is called Rocky.

For Daddy

My father, Frank Alfred Barbara circa 1958 with my sister Lynn on the beach in Longport, NJ

POCKET CHANGE

Two pockets –

One stashes cash for bums and beggars.

Not a large sum, 

  just a few crinkled bills and jangly change

is all.

The other, carries two kinds of currency - 

a wad of uncounted dough in disarray

           to spend like Monopoly money

and 

carefully counted crisp bills

          money-clipped together in chronological order.

Famous faces facing left.

Fistfuls of ones,

a few fives,

   tens,

     twenties by the dozens.

One thousand dollars

  in all.

 Always silver-clipped with a

        capital cursive “F” -

Not a dollar more.

Not a dollar less.

Not just on Sunday

   to pad the passing tithing basket.

Not just Monday to Friday

    to pay the bills.

Not just Saturday night

    to spend on the boardwalk –

Not at all.

Late at night

my father,

   caught by a spotlight of the moon

left on the dinning room table

   like an empty yellow plate,

would  sit and sort his money in solitaire rows.

  Winner

   takes all.

My nephew Justin,  holding an oil portrait of Pop-Pop that my mother had given Daddy in the mid-60's.  Justin and Pop-Pop have always looked alike.

From Sun Flowers to Moon Flowers

 Moon Flower

 Moon Flower Getting Ready to Bloom

Sun Flowers Over the Top of the Fence

Fetching May's Beauty

An Earth Day Butterfly

Everyday the garden makes me smile. Today, this butterfly caught my eye and patiently waited while I captured its beautiful presence - and in a snap, it fluttered away.

An Early Bird Spring

The end of winter

Felix explores the wet earth

Bebe awaits the chance to play fetch

String beans climb and blossom

An asparagus rain forest

Flowers with promise of many more to come

Tomatoes with green suits soon to be red

Broccoli, corn, lettuce

The Flower bed

If you look closely, you can watch it grow

Corn, soon to be fenced in by chicken wire to deter the squirrels.

The other half of the flower bed

The knock-out rose, knocking it out!

A bee! A bee!