Inquiry: poetry and photography

Inquiry (a poem)

The last two summers I grew sunflowers for fun.  By accident I discovered that a dried sunflower stalk makes a nice walking stick.  I used the first walking stick for most of this year.  It's not nearly as strong as wood and should not be used by someone who needs a cane for support. It however is very light and the natural beauty of the stalk is enhanced in time, growing darker and the organic patterns of the plant have become more clearly defined.  I've become fond of it and it shows very little wear.

I enjoy using it, just because I grew it and nurtured it and it is useful to maintain my balance. I may decorate it and put a protective coating on it. It will be interesting to see how long it remains useful.

This year, because of my experience last year, I grew more sunflowers and harvested many seed heads and a number of possible walking sticks. 

For distinctiveness this year I planted morning glory seeds which grew and entwined themselves around the eight to nine feet tall sunflowers. I did this with the intention of making a natural decoration for another walking stick. That project is ongoing as the vines and stalks dry together.

Inquiry 

a poem by David H. Roche 

Seeds the size of a fingernail buried in May

and resurrected in June
with a glorious body

of tiny green leaves
and flimsy,

translucent stems

some of which have grown to giants nine feet tall

with golden crowns at the end of September…

now hanging their heads
one by one.

This afternoon they're like one legged dancers

swaying back and forth in the wind

at the last dance of the season

with Scrub Jays, Ravens, Chickadees

and whomever comes to sustain themselves from their flesh.

Almost as if there were a cooperative enterprise underway, 

next to the pond across the street

the remains of once plump juicy blackberries

cling to dried vines
among clusters of dry brittle leaves 

and bloodletting spines.

Their wrinkled, desiccated flesh reminds me of rabbit turds. 

Notwithstanding, they are a larder

for small birds and mice

who will return throughout the winter

to eat dinners provided by invisible hands.

All this cooperation fascinates me,

this living of life in support of the lives of others,

compels an inquiry into this "Fellowship"

of the "Mystery" of life.

poetry and photography by
(C) David H. Roche 2018

Arrival of September