Peonies

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Peonies


Jefferson and Matilda, scanning menus for a choice,
Long time work mates who became partners for lunch,
No buffets, at a Tex Mex, you must pick and choose,
Jefferson struggled for subtle ways to leave her clues.


They were comfortable enough with each, to double dip,
To both's surprise, thinking aloud, he let it slip,
He's turned in his notice, a full two weeks tendered,
Jefferson, waving a veritable white flag of surrender.


Matilda showed calm to the core, though quite confused,
A part of her was in panic, but show it? She refused.
He explained, the no fraternization policy was the cause,
The one they sign with the firm; deep breath and pause...


"Soon I will be able to ask you out, on a proper date."
This was his way to avoid the problems that would create.
The entrees arrived, server warning, the plates were hot,
To the server, "More dip, please." To him, "I think not."


Different table, same place, two weeks had passed away.
Hostess overheard her congratulate him on his special day.
Sarcasm in her tone, tension building, she's about to break,
When panic ensues, what with singing and a birthday cake!


Restaurant people carry on like they hate singing that song,
But they are found to be smiling when time to sing along,
Jefferson silently cried "Foul," whipped cream to his face,
He had the attention of all but one person in that place.


A quick trip to running water, what could make this worse?
Matilda, laughing, "I can't believe you had dessert first."
He saw an opening, a potential opportunity to be seized;
He asked her on a date again, again she was not pleased.


He asked one good reason, thinking, "I hope she doesn't."
Her swift reply, "It would be like dating my first cousin."
A pause, neither saying a word, then, "Pick me up at eight."
Not knowing what possessed her to concede, "Don't be late."


For weeks, Jefferson pitched and wooed the prize he'd won.
It seemed every date was like starting over, not a lot of fun.
A normal fellow would have seen this all as cause for alarm;
Not Jefferson, who's only resolve was to turn up the charm.


This brings us to a very special evening, anniversary bind;
To show up with gifts, hearts and flowers, was in his mind.
In advance, on a lunch break, he visited a florist to find,
They did not have his chosen flowers, none the right kind.


He called in to the office, asking for the rest of the day,
His wish granted, they were not busy, off to find a bouquet,
Looking past his car, he spied a tavern, thinking libation,
In moderation, would open revolving doors of inspiration.


Those fruity drinks, served in tandem, in frosted glasses,
During what they call a happy hour; my how the time passes;
A glance at the door as it opens, afternoon sun streams in,
He recalls where he is going, won't remember where he's been.


He drives away, at a time he should not be behind the wheel,
Mere blocks from his house, his bumper lays a lick on steel.
The poor innocent mail box, leveled, taken down to the post,
It never saw him coming. He drives on, the mail box a ghost.


Pulling into his driveway (only requiring two or three tries),
Staggering from his vehicle, one might guess what he spies,
Much to his good luck, or perhaps this will be his misfortune,
He sees a garden full of flowers, and chooses to pick them.


Before hitting the shower, tossing them into the deep freeze,
So they don't wilt, as wilted flowers would surely not please.
An hour later, he is looking good, feeling better, time to go;
Reaching in for flowers, he discovers they're covered in snow.


Frosted flowers are not in order and today, will not suffice.
He eases back to the garden, and proceeds to pick them twice.
Seeing Mrs. Clancy wave, he drives away. They won't be missed.
She's not waving at the floral thief. She's shaking her fist!


Coming to her door, she greets Jefferson, hands behind him.
He offers her the token, once thought out, but taken on a whim.
Doubtful she smelled them, over alcohol on his baited breath,
He stuffs some in a water glass, the rest fall to their death.


She feigns indifference. Knowing better, he calls her bluff.
He offers an enthusiastic "Happy Anniversary," off the cuff.
Clueless as to what he was implying, to her it meant nothing.
Her smile not forthcoming, truth be told, scowl was scathing.


This moment he became broken, too much weight on his shoulder.
For the first time, he had little or no desire to hold her.
It was not as though he'd killed someone, or shown disrespect;
She never considered, his melt down, a result of her neglect.


Rolling of her eyes was the final straw, he could take no more;
She turned her back for a moment, he opened and closed the door.
He made it home intact, wondering all the while, what went wrong.
He was rudely awakened on a Saturday morning by a siren's song.


He was greeted by a constable, with a warrant in hand to serve.
A complaint was filed, for stealing prize peonies by the curb.
Routine run of his tags showed he was the local mailbox culprit.
He was hand cuffed and put in the back of a squad car, to sit.


Bail was set low, so he gained his release with room to spare.
He did not miss time from work, until his court date to appear.
No one ever guessed that the boy had been falling down drunk.
Nothing was found in a routine going over of his cab or trunk.


The judge might not have made an example to her fullest powers,
Over a single (okay, there were two) transgression of flowers;
As fate would allow, her brother made a living delivering mail.
Still, she was lenient, to the point, Jefferson avoided jail.


Now, Matilda drives by his work and sees his car in its place,
But she never sees it in his driveway; gazing at an open space,
No idea he repairs pot holes on gravel roads, who could guess,
The result of receiving one hundred hours of community service.


By the time Jefferson had personal time, he was not to be found,
Unless one might spy a cabin house, on the outskirts of town.
It seems he met a lady on a county road, in a vehicle, stranded.
He came to her rescue, was cordial; she found his wit candid.


The last time Matilda cruised by his house, sign said was sold.
She surmised, Jefferson had gone off the deep end, life on hold.
Hers was sure in order, a new man in her life, no sense of loss,
Workplace dalliance can be overlooked, when it is with the boss.


That Clancy woman finally took home a ribbon at the county fair.
No one had ever seen peonies with such shimmer, sheen and glare.
She never shared, the secret of her success was a killer frost.
She almost did not enter, counting this year's crop a total loss.


Who would ever have thought, frozen flowers could do the deal?
Had Jefferson only known, he might not tossed his into a field.
Those folks with the fallen mailbox, rented a box, lock and key,
At the local post office, their names on front as the addressee.


The judge failed to win last election, and here is how it went:
She was seen as soft on crime. It was said she was too lenient.
Now she writes a column for the local paper. She is good at that.
A paperboy's bike rolls a sheared metal post. His tire goes flat.


Michael Todd  (2015)

Weeping Willow Walk (for Lainey)

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Weeping Willow Walk (for Lainey)


You are attracted to the moon when full,
in whole splendor, grandest scheme display,
holding at bay, where rolling tides will pull,
securing all grandeur it might allay.

Not my way to be so bold, to assuage;
I would manage to gauge, measure esteem.
The slightest sliver completes my collage,
complimenting my reveal, night sky gleam.

No need to diverge, or be crestfallen,
dawn's consent orchestrates resolve in weight;
shade and shadow emerge in tandem, twin;
our world scene in order; it's a clean slate.

So much to say, a perfect time to talk,
hand in hand, on a weeping willow walk.

Michael Todd  (2015)

The Girl in the Swing

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The Girl in the Swing


Just this side of a coulee, on the outskirts of the city,
We find ten year old Helen, in a new tree swing, sitting.

A gift from her grandfather, bought new in a box, dangling
from a prime tree in the pasture, capable host for hanging.

She is timid at first, getting used to the feel of strand,
Squeezing the cord accordingly, in the palm of her hand.

In time she will ascend to heights unsurpassed, in flight,
but for now, she takes in stride, the ride, future bright.


Over the years, she would be found there, floating aloft;
Drifting, dreaming winsome at times, perhaps in deep thought.

On the day she turned eighteen, she became of age, an heir,
At the apex of thrust, seeing civilization, just over there.

She had a plan in motion, had consulted a trusted adviser,
Only this confidante knew her intents, no one else the wiser.

This would be a gamble, a big step to take, to subdivide,
What began on a hunch, the numbers crunched, on this glide.


Her scheme, on the level, as level as the turf they surveyed;
In no time at all, gravel was spread, then black top laid.

Utilities in place; word on the street, lots here for sale;
Initial pricing steep, then descending, on a sliding scale.

Phases One and Two served to settle, recoup her investment;
The third and final were put in a vault, serving as profit.

Within weeks, all the lots for sale were gone, save for one,
The prime lot, the ground her willow tree proudly rested on.


From her perch, over time, she witnessed neighborly things.
The seasonal comings and goings a divided commune brings.

Families milling about, in the warm months, a barbecue glow,
When the winter cast its spell, taking turns shoveling snow.

More and more, inhabitants spoke of the girl, in hushed tone.
Her time to stay varied, as she appeared daily, always alone.

One can only surmise, what all, curious onlookers had to say.
From the looks some cast, they seemed to wish she'd go away.


One day, fate intervened, as fate will do, on the path to walk.
As several neighbors gathered, one approached, needed to talk.

True, he had received a new job option, requiring he relocate.
False, he nodded toward the empty swing, intent to insinuate.

In an effort to keep up with the Jones, he put on a facade.
The others did not take in stride, or see through his fraud.

He made it official the following week, house on the market.
Within weeks, similar signs cluttered yards, like a blanket.


To everyone who played the real estate market, a big surprise,
As each house sold on the initial showings, very first tries.

With offers to assume mortgages "as is," owners sold cheap.
Most got out while the getting was good, took the same leap.

In time, all the houses sold went into rental service mode.
There was only one family unit left to hold onto their abode.

The renters came in a hurry, fine houses in an area perfect,
A full time maintenance firm in place, zero property neglect.


The new dwellers never noticed, (transients are just that way)
The girl in the swing, who was still found there every day.

They never judged or cast aspersion, even on a lark or whim.
She had every right to be where she was. It was fine by them.

None of them knew, she was their landlord, did not presume.
There was nothing about her that gave them cause for gloom.

At first sign of spring, the first barbecue, she was invited.
She respectfully declined, but took note, she was not slighted.


When they left her, she could not resist a turn and smile.
She thought aloud, saying, "I might join them in a while."

She was brought back into the present, by a gentle voice.
A little girl of nine to ten before her, spoke by choice.

She and her mother were the only home owners to not leave.
The mother scolded the child, and was told, no need to grieve.

The youngster spoke boldly, when apparent opportunity arose,
As the girl in the swing gave her the floor, in full repose.


"I was just wondering, if sometime I might sit in your seat."
Hearing this, the mother cringed, wanting to take to the street.

She arose from her throne, with a natural glow on her face,
And hoisted the child, spun and put her secure, in her place.

Speaking in mock admonishing tone, said to hold on tight,
As she got behind, and gave it a push, with all her might.

To the mother, she offered, "Don't feel I've been taken to task.
For so long have I waited... She is the first to ever ask."


Michael Todd  (2015)

Sleeping On a Train (sonnet)

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Sleeping On a Train (sonnet)


Try though I might, I can't sleep on a train.
Not enamored with the sounds of those wheels,
No magic in coarse, rhythm-racket refrain,
Ghostly frightening, to senses' appeals.

Claustrophobic, stretched out in this slim berth;
Hands in corpse-fold; attempts vain, at slumber,
Humming dead-train songs, for all they are worth,
Such as, "Wreck of the Old... (pick a number.)"

That cow catcher can't divert a whole herd.
Loose coin to flatten, and we jump the track!
We'll meet our reward without warning-word;
Can't bear a thought of tunnel's fade to black.

Give me winding roads, grant me wings to fly;
Anything but rails, where I'm sure to die.

Michael Todd (2015)

Find the Time

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Find the Time


A touch of morning, new year: realize,
Customized to-do lists, spread around;
It really should not come as a surprise,
These tasks I could do, while still above ground.

Pretty pictures, snapped and framed, hung to view,
Afghan crocheted, preferred colors, size, style,
Antique table repaired, new stain, screws, glue;
Unique one and only's, from this strewn pile.

Send shout outs to shut ins, along life's way:
Comfort and solace, or leave them laughing.
Give flowers to the living, brighten their day;
Risk versus reward? Free, what I might bring.

I own the lamp post, where I tie my horse;
These tasks in hand, planned; I'll do, in due course!

Michael Todd (2015)

Disclaimer: This is not so much about new years resolutions as it is about directives. It is about time management and obligations, both to self and others... I got the idea for this, following a conversation with Paula Dawn Lietz. In the exchange, she pointed out that everything takes time, and we just need to find a balance.

Snow Angel Suite (for Paula Dawn)

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Snow Angel Suite (for Paula Dawn)


I. Snow Angel (Prologue)


Up well before dawn, that light at break of day;
Snow ceased in the night, another round on the way;
Batteries fully charged, loaded; clean the lense,

Glance out window, too fogged to see the night sky;
Last night's apple crotata and coffee, on the fly;
Out she goes, her intent to shoot some old friends.


Making her way to the gate, gauging snow, ankle deep;
Scan shadows from front porch light, thorough sweep;
One deep breath for good measure, a dizzying effect.

Making a mental note, let that serve as a wake up call.
Pulling up her scarf, disguise serves to hide a scowl;
In untypical fashion, she's knowing not what to expect.


II. Snow Blind


Three hills and three valleys successfully trekked;
View crest of a pine ridge, sun rises at it own pace,
An old familiar place, but she's never felt so alone.
An arcade of animals is what she has come to expect;
Hillside barren, yields nary a track in snow to chase.
Where are her animals, she asks. Where have they gone?


She muses to herself, "Maybe I have gone snow blind?"
Resigning herself to make it up that hill, to the top;
If she spots no willing participants, she will recede.
Setting forth on a clear path, all the angles aligned;
In motion, all is symmetrical, toward a place to stop;
Hope is in sight, allowances vanish, that she concede.


III. Summit on the Ridge (Part One)


Black Bear, basking in the shadows, flat of his back,
Groundhog twitching, muttering to no one in particular;
Cougar says, "You cannot assume credit or take blame."
Marmot says, "He's not listening. He enjoys the flack."
Gray Fox concludes, "For all his predictions, I am sure
he is sincere, and not just about seeking the acclaim."


Squirrel and Chipmunk shadow boxing, to Stoat's delight;
Porcupine plays, off to the side. None will get near.
Gray Wolf circles, alone in near distance, by choice;
Rabbit runs about, proclaims "She's coming into sight."
Stoat flashes warning, "Be quiet, lest she might hear."
Within moments, she's close enough, they hear her voice.


IV. Snow Angel


Arctic winds appear, in a flash, swirling, as if on cue,
She resigns, she could leave empty handed. That won't do.
She feigns indifference and spins, falling on her back.
She will create an image in the snow, since others lack.

As the girl shimmies and twists and windmills all about,
The animals in hiding, curious, can not figure this out.
Once her perpetual motions subside, she's come to rest,
Knowing full well, her snow angel will be her very best.

Hearing a cracking sound, she looks to see a projectile;
A tree top gives up the ghost, descending like a missile!
Reflexes take charge, she rolls away from impending harm,
Ever thankful to her mother earth for sounding that alarm.

A treetop falls in the forest. Only she can hear the sound.
She takes her cue as time to be on her way, homeward bound.
Glancing down at her camera, she got nothing on this trip.
She pirouettes, takes single shot, no focus, from the hip.

As the blizzard intensifies, she searches for a landmark.
Any will do, but here at midmorning, it feels like dark.
She found a barbed fence, or it found her. Call it fate.
She was in too big a hurry to guess which way to the gate.

She grasped the strand, sliding down, cutting her arm.
Sliding under, tore her pants, certain cause for alarm.
To avoid sliding into the pond, last obstacle to defeat,
Which she did; Smelling wood smoke, her journey complete.


V. Sermon from The Mount


One by one, each animal emerged from its hiding station.
As the girl was making her way down the frozen grade,
Lynx proclaimed, "We were wrong." Do not create rumor,
when face to face; go that route with an apparition,
down a road, where truth and innuendo merge and fade.
"It was she who taught you to have a sense of humor."

One by one, each animal froze, looking at each other.
The voice that spoke, not one of their own, that tone
came from one that bore feather, one who looked down.
"She led you to a place you can't go back, don't bother
with the how and why, or dwell on a time that is gone,
when you cast glance of aspersion, in fear or frown."

A the voiced boomed, each looked up toward the skies
to see a Great Gray Owl secured, regnant, in a birch.
"Witnessing your transformation, you never noticed me;
She speaks, you gather her message and all it implies."
They all nod in approval, at the sermon from the perch.
His departing last words, "Sorry I broke your tree."


VI. Summit on the Ridge (Part Two)


Fox said, "Owl made some good points. She is sly as I,
and I am sure I can speak for us all, a collective,
we all owe her a debt of gratitude, we can't repay."
Rabbit said, "Sure, but that is no reason to not try.
What I learned from her, not to take more than I give."
He wished she was still here, and had not gone away.

Bear said it was best if he followed, to make sure
She was safe. "When she left, she seemed... shaken.
While I am gone, you all be on your best behavior."
Bear took notice of Wolf, eyeballing the mule deer.
"Harm that deer, Sir, it'll be your last step taken.
I will feed you to the fishes, to even that score."


VII. Hearth and Manor


Later, that very same evening, a chapter comes to close.
Sitting alone in the manor, a time to reflect, suppose;
One who many would proclaim to have been annointed,
Is dealing with a bout of melancholy, disappointed,
At the puzzling events of the day; only Heaven knows.

She walks about the room, gazing at paintings on display.
Stirring the blaze in the fireplace, poker keeping at bay,
Hand on a hearth that has stood one hundred years,
Resolve engaging, as her mind is shifting gears,
Recalling a potential visual clue, hidden in her cache.

She sits on the sofa, with a needle and thread, to sew
her demin disaster of the day, torn pants in the snow.
Her arm is a little tender, from a barbed wire scrape,
No major call to alarm, but it does impede her grip.
Turning them inside out, a good ruching, it won't show.


VIII. Shadows Blend


All of her chores of the day are done,
her focus now devoted to just one end.
Unsheathing the camera to look for one
image of the day, where shadows blend.

She peruses the picture taken in haste;
stroke of luck, not grainy or blurred.
Over shot her errant angel, a wasted
click; no disaster, and nothing furred.

She plays with the image, resolution,
snow and trees, ridge line inclined.
Still life bearing witness, confusion;
one last glance. What does she find?

A single set of eyes, the gaze intent.
Magnifying glass removed from drawer,
Maybe this wasted day, time well spent,
She confirms another set, then one more.

Why would they see her, choose to hide?
Thought of prank never crossed her mind;
For sure, each set of eyes was open wide.
She over zoomed the image, only to find,

The eyes melded with snowflakes, in pairs,
Wild ravages of winter mix, animals tame,
Whirling and tumbling ice, frozen stares,
Dispelling myth of no two flakes the same.

Too late to consort with brush and canvas,
she knows to not commence, fighting sleep;
hating to put it down, knowing she must;
Clenching her fist; hold images, to keep.

Calls it a night, laying head on a pillow,
Reasoning, not all she saw, is as it seems.
Likening to classic design, blue on willow,
she sees her painting, complete, in dreams.


IX. Portrait


Pairs of snow flakes in perfect unison,
all laid out on display, for us to see;
under auspice of science, art; as one.
Look at how they float, defying decree.

Are there skeptics? None are stating their case;
doubters among throng, concede, it is true;
absolute, symmetrical, points in place,
with nary a blemish in sight to view.

Never before witnessed by eyes of man,
leaving nothing to confound or dispute;
in plain sight here, no way to spin this plan;
each detail of tandems, found resolute.

Two snowflakes just alike, no room for doubt;
zeal yields for those who can't figure this out.


X. Snow Angel (Reprise)


First day of April, she steps out, no thought of risk.
Unseasonably cool this year, winds are up and brisk.
She sets out, in the direction she found a ploughshare,
in search of a new image capture, not a worry or care.

Turned around, (to look at the sun would be cheating),
taking advantage of opportunity, as these become fleeting.
It may take a little longer to get back, to traverse,
but you will always find her trusting in her universe.

She happens on a storm cellar, all that's left of a domain.
Stepping down, inside, curious as to what might remain.
Shining a light, seeing all four walls, forlorn and bare;
from where she is sits, see could see all of nothing there.

An epiphany falls, as epiphanies tend to do, if we wait.
She realizes she is sitting squarely atop a wooden crate.
Prying it open, she finds, in mint condition, dinner ware,
a full set of weeping willow dishes, packed with loving care.

She recalled her dream, on the evening she caught a vision,
when painting the snowflake eyes became her life's mission.
Mon espoir est la vôtre à part. Je vous attends pour commencer,
on a note that fell from between plates. When did this occur?

Translation, "Love is in the air. I feel it in my heart."
She concluded, "Seems someone was off to a pretty good start."
Packing the dishes, with care, she pressed the lid secure.
Climbing from the cellar, she mused, "This concludes the tour."

Making a bee line for her house (she was never really lost),
"Some discoveries are just not for sharing. Consider the cost."
For all the words and works of art she chose to put on display,
Countless more, only seen by her... She's just made that way.


Michael Todd  (2014)


Written for Paula Dawn Lietz. Her Website is...

http://www.pdlietzphotography.com/

Stolen (Sonnet for Lainey)

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Stolen


Stolen artifact, favored possession,
A pilfering of trinket and heirloom,
Would surely fail in feint comparison,
Precise moment you walk into the room.

Who grants the right for you to look that way?
I'm weak in the knees; you've said not a word.
My wherewithal falls, into disarray,
Composure cannot be manufactured.

There is no synonym for the word, "Love."
Caught up here in the subtle web you weave,
You are all I hope and dream, in and of;
There is but one way I can see you leave;

Granted, a far reach, my expectancy ~
Grasp firm my hand, and steal away with me.


Michael Todd  (2014)