Heart’s Ease

Viola, generous and humble,
I could harvest your sweet-smelling blooms forever
And never run out.

Heart’s-ease, violet, pansy, Johnny jump-up,
Your names are as innumerable as your gifts.
Spoonfuls of syrup strengthen our hearts, nourish our blood,
And quiet our coughs
Through every season.

You generously provide a colorful show,
And then your true flowers,
Pale green and hidden beneath heart-shaped leaves,
Do their work to guard your future.

In the garden I wait beside a shaded corner
As the morning dew disappears into a shaft of sunlight,
Grateful for one more day with you,
Purple, white, blue and pink
Protectors of our hearts.

(c) Judith C Evans 2019

Shamelessly Growing Sideways

Beside the ancient, sprawling honeysuckle bush,
A young apple tree leans in
And fights for her share of the sun.
Of all the trees in our backyard orchard,
She is voted least likely to succeed.

Her trunk nearly parallel to the ground,
She strains toward the sun.
Branches that should spread from side to side
Instead soar skyward.

We fret about this state of affairs.

What a shame, we sigh,
As we consider corrective measures
To help her grow properly.
Stakes and twine are put in order.
Websites are consulted.
We trim the honeysuckle branches to no avail.

Maybe best to cut down the twisted tree
To make way for a better fit?

Nevertheless, her trunk presses sideways,
Tearing up well-meaning stakes,
Sending boughs skyward, shrugging off our dismay.

Months later, the little tree puts our concerns to rest.

After shamelessly growing sideways,
Chasing her beloved sun,
This misshapen lady,
With horizontal trunk and vertical branches,
Bears more fruit than all the others combined.

(c) Judith C Evans 2019


Shared with Poetry Pantry #439 at Poets United

Like Mary’s Heart

We first heard of Him
During a time of persecution,
When all seemed dead or dying.

His name was first engraved
On Mary’s heart,
Before she understood
What God had asked of her.

The last rose of our garden
Surprised us this November.
Surprised us all,
Amid bare trees and
Decaying,
Discarded leaves.

Like Mary’s heart,
The rose unfurled each petal,
And reached for the dwindling autumn light
Until our expectations
Could no longer contain it.

(c) 2018 Judith C Evans

Jewel of the Garden

Two backyard planting beds,
A few half barrels,
And four fruit trees
Was all it took
To ignite her imagination.
“This year we’ll put up
Heirloom beans, crookneck squash,
Amaranth, garlic greens,
Rhubarb and zucchini (remember zucchini for future reference),”
She announced, setting cases of canning jars
On the kitchen counter.

She pored over web pages
Of native seeds,
Open-pollinated and bee-friendly.

She composed her garden in her head,
Much like her sonnets and haiku,
As if she could craft it
To end in so many syllables.

The plums came first:
Jams, first runny and then rock -solid.
Then the zucchini.
Remember the zucchini?
One or two or many more every day,
Until the neophyte farmer burst into tears.
So many zucchini and not much more.
Barely a purple bean or garlic green.
Frozen zucchini, shredded, pickled, wrapped in bacon.
Banish the word zucchini!

Who would think that this gardener
— This permaculture wannabe, this homesteader on a mission —
Would end up delighting
In ornamental flowers?
“Rose of Sharon jelly,”  she read on a favorite blog.
Half-pint jars of delicate pink glaze.

She doubled down and harvested
The red and white hibiscus blooms,
As worker bees hovered all around —
Ladies in the last weeks of their lives,
Who would work themselves to death
For the sake of the hive.

The next morning, the would-be farmer
Stood at her kitchen window and
Held up a jar of fragrant pink jelly
— That prismatic jewel with
A perfect, delicate texture.

She wondered how many worker bees
Had survived the night,
And she left the best
Rose of Sharon blooms
For the ones who returned.

Judith C Evans (c) 2018

Joy

Late autumn sunset
cast shadows on a brick wall:
unexpected joy

© Judith C Evans 2012

  Written for Haiku Heights prompt #146 -- Joy.

Blessed Bear

Bear,
How blessed you are.
You sleep away the winter;
When the spring runoff cracks the ice,
You smash through chilly, rushing waters
To retrieve the choicest salmon.
When the sun warms your back,
You meticulously forage for blueberries
And delicately lick honey from your lethal paw.
Bear,
How blessed we are
To follow your shadow,
To hope for a glimpse of
Your solitude,
Your mystery,
Your freedom.

© Judith C Evans 2008

Submitted to Thursday Think Tank at Poets United prompt #52 -- animals

Summer Argument

Breathless afternoon:
Clouds thicken,
Static ignites.
Then, a thunderclap of
Careless words.
A flash flood
Scrapes out gullies
And tears up roots
Where self once stood.
All quiet now as the
Sun peeks out.
We step over debris
To survey the damage.

© Judith C Evans 2011

[Written for Jingle Poetry's Poetry Potluck -- this week's prompt: Thunderstorms, floods and water fury and submitted to Short Story Slam image prompt at Bluebell Books]

Nearly November (for Captain Meriwether Lewis) by Judith C Evans

It's a day you'd have noted, Captain, in your journal
          two centuries ago.
It's nearly November, unseasonably warm for northern Arizona.
We went up into the mountains today,
My sisters and I.
The San Francisco Peaks are scarred with ski trails and cables,
But you'd have memorized them as you memorized
Idaho's pristine Bitterroots.
The frostbitten fragrances of dead leaves swept into
          the shimmering whisper of the aspens in the breeze.
Did you hear?
Brilliant mountain bluebirds and stellar jays played tag
          among the crowded white tree trunks and clean shadows.
I wanted to point out fine details for you to write: the glass-smooth
          wood, its bark torn back by magnificent antlers;
          fresh deer scat; the spruce tree stand; the snowy peaks,
          just out of reach.
The sun kissed my forehead and now it stings.
Did you see?
Were you just about to tell us these very things?
Rest a while and drink the day.
After all, it's nearly November.

© Judith C Evans 2006

[submitted to Poetry Pantry #53]