Chaos Blossoming

image borrowed from bing

Chaos Blossoming

“Only a poet can capture the essence of chaos.” 

---P.H. Coase

Brilliant blossoms have now burst from their buds

like a living patchwork quilt draping

the ridges on the foothills near your farm;

luscious dew-splattered leaves,

fifty shades of green, have sprouted

in various shapes & configurations;

dressing the bare spines & gray appendages

of maple, oak, and alder that surround

the blue rainbarrel ranch like a fairies' ring.

**************

As Kim Jong-un struts like a dwarf peacock,

attempting boldness, forcefulness, & breathing fire,

struggling like a plump larva surrounded by fire ants,

straining to take his inherited place in what’s left

of the Kim Dynasty, hoping that one day soon

his own colossal statue will stand granite

shoulder to shoulder with those of his father

& grandfather, playing nuclear roulette as

his long-range missiles perch like kimchi condors.

*****************

Hummingbirds are now taking turns hovering

at the blood red feeders hanging 

on your puncheon porch just above the hand-cut

wooden letters that spell Home backwards,

and I can easily hear the honied melodies

of the morning birds, setting up a spooky chorus

with the last of the night dogs belting out

the final notes of their mournful ballads;

seeing you in a Spring work dress squatting 

like a golden maiden, your hands buried

to the wrists in the rich black earth

of your several raised garden beds.

****************

As investigators in Boston are now looking

for a young white man wearing a back pack,

a black jacket, a gray hoodie, and a white

baseball cap worn backwards, and another

white youth who dropped off a suspicious

bag minutes before the first cowardly blast

exploded, bringing death, blowing off limbs,

embedding shrapnel into the innocent

bodies of the the soft targets selected.

*******************

I can see sibling cats leaping white-bellied

into the air after my blue-belled cat lure,

with Sarge, the shepherd, lying next to

the metal barrel stove, watching me,

hoping for another hike up to the 

clear-cut bare foreheads at the edge 

of what’s left of the National forest, he & I 

sole witnesses to massive cloud thighs

masking a cold sun in an eggshell sky.

*****************

As the FBI arrested Paul Kevin Curtis for sending

lethal letters laced with the poison ricin to President

Obama, and a U.S. Senator.

As a fertilizer plant in windswept West, Texas

mysteriously exploded like an atomic bomb,

leveling 60 homes, killing several, wounding hundreds.

*******************

I can visualize that incredible star-choked wedge

of night viewed through the skylight above the bed

in your loft, dreams running clearly

like the icy water rushing sweetly & strongly

down Dry Bed Creek, constellations preening,

vying for our attention, spreading mythos.

But April remains Olympus and defiant,

and obviously it can not be captured

within the slim lines of one poem. 

Glenn Buttkus

Posted over on dVerse Poets MTB

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