Flower Pot Rocks

May Day

May Day

Trees in bud
sudden their break out
fresh today
a red fuzz here
catkins over there

Fairy lights
in the Mountain Ash
goldfinches
a mountaineer
this downy woodpecker
scaling the heights
a star
on top of the tree

Green the grass
in places
brown in others
from last year’s drought

New Brunswick violets
our provincial flowers
a patchwork of blue

Dark green
the early hollyhock leaves
pushing stubbornly
up and through
to greet the sky

Commentary:

Mysterious indeed it is – to plant a clepsydra and watch it grow. Will it, won’t it? Does it suit the climate zone? Will it flower? Have you ever seen a flowering Clepsydra? Moo has. He draws and paints them all the time. But can he make them grow in my garden? We’ll have to wait to find out. He can certainly paint them.

But why does he call them mysterious? When I printed Clepsydra in my chapbook series, I mis-counted the pages and ended up with one blank page. “Mine!” said Moo. And he grabbed his colored pens and pencils and set to work drawing Clepsydras. That was his Mysterious Clepsydra Plant. Down below he has painted a Lady Clepsydra in Flower. Will the ones he says he planted in my garden be yellow, red, or multi-colored? Who knows? I most certainly don’t. And I am pretty sure Moo doesn’t have a clue about the plant life he uses to brighten my pages and plant in my flower beds.

Do you know what a Clepsydra is? Let’s ask Big Brother to draw us one. Hey, Big Bro – paint us a Clepsydra. A voice emerges from nowhere – “Say pretty please and I’ll think about it.” “Pretty please.” The metalic voice vanishes and a sign appears – Thinking!

Replica of a Roman water clock with ornate brass components and a glass water container
A functioning replica of a Roman water clock circa 50 AD / CE – a clepsydra – displayed in a museum

CE – Common Error – well I never. I guess poor Mistaken Moo made a common error and thought a Clepsydra was a flower. Time flows like a flowers, but it never flows back. If you see Moo, don’t tell him about this. He won’t be happy to know he can’t tell a flower from a set of flower pots. And what the heck would he paint if he went to Flower Pot Rocks? Oh no!!!! Well I never did. I blame Moo entirely. Shame on Moo! He’s fooled me again!

Carved in Stone 2

2

How many free thinkers
stumble up the gallows’ steps
or take that short walk,
candle in hand,
to the executioner’s block?

Some take a longer trip,
in a tumbril along French streets
lined with howling,
slogan-chanting citizens,
en route to the guillotine.

Heads, already severed,
welcome them with sightless eyes,
a strange harvest for straw baskets.

Hearken to the swish of stone
against steel as the executioner
sharpens the blade that will swiftly fall,
then rise, only to fall again.

The horse-drawn cart
creaks towards its inevitable end,
filled, standing room only,
with unfortunates trapped
by whatever rising tide
hurled them against the razor rocks
of their imminent mortality.

Commentary:

Flower Pot Rocks along the Fundy Coast. One of the most beautiful spots in New Brunswick, a province with so many other beauty spots. It’s hard to believe that I was standing on the seabed when I took that photo. It’s also hard to believe that the Fundy Tide, one of the highest, if not the highest, in the world, rises to the tree line, at the top of the photo, way above the sand.

If you go to the Fundy, consult the Tide Tables with care. You do not want to get stuck in the Fundy mud. Nor do you want to be one of the unfortunates trapped by whatever rising tide hurls you against the razor rocks of your imminent mortality.