Green

After taking this picture John said, "They look like a bunch of craps. Fucking lilys"

My thoughts were somewhat different.

Signs of spring are coming seemingly early. I keep thinking of the first stanza of The Wasteland, "April is the cruellest month, breeding/lilacs out of the dead land,mixing/Memory and desire, stirring/Dull roots with the spring rain.Winter kept us warm, covering/Earth in forgetful snow, feeding/A little life with dried tubers..."

Walking home from work I came upon the most delicate white flowers, their tiny clean heads hung down, ashamed at their early bloom. But I am grateful for the return of spring, it makes poetry much easier.

IMMORTALITY!

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Turritopsis_nutricula

The Old Creek

I walked the wrong way and
ended up in the dry creek bed.
I have never seen a creek in the bed.
It is an old grave,
I am lost inside it.

Untitled

And the ocean grove was over-run
with auburn beards and cans of Oly.
And by my side the spirit of a poet,
outlining the trees with verbs and poignancy,
a romantic song rolling on the tongue of the sea.

Father

“It's the Foster way” he said.
“To control every situation.”
And the whole time he spoke I could not help
but look at his all-white beard,
and the way I did not know where his chin was
or what his chin looked like
or what his face looked like.