I have two poems and two haiku up at the Lothlorien Poetry Journal. Here is the whole shebang:

Bedding

It is long past time

to put my garden to bed.

Even plants that have

survived two hard frosts

look like patients 

on life support. 

Each year in the first flush

of spring—when I’m digging

in the just thawed earth

wearing a ski coat

and last year’s gloves,

I promise myself

that I will put this garden

to bed properly —

trimming here and there

and yanking dead stuff 

out by their roots

in the dimming daylight

of an icy November.

I never do.

It’s hard to believe

that there is just

one of me,

springing from bed

early each April morning

to plant little green nubs

in the clay soil

with so much

unsupported optimism.

To someone

who can hardly

look out the window

at the limp sadsacks

of the garden remains.

Ah, only six months

till spring.

The Arts

And, over time

I began to think

of the bench

as mine.

It sits grey-green

at the edge

of Spring Creek,

in a small park

rarely peopled during the week.

Weeping Willows

temper the sun

and tame the winds.

Last night

the temperature dropped

thirty degrees

and in the early morning

my bench sparkles

with hoar frost.

The park —

my poetry,

The creek —

my music,

and the willows—

my art.

Two Haiku

Last day of Autumn

our path strewn with oak leaves

are you coming home?

early morning snow

deer tracks through the apple grove

my fireplace crackles