marysgardens

Quiet dawn of morning 
pierced by computer clicks, 
I drink first cup of coffee,

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I don’t know what this is.
But it seems right to me.
It expresses my inner thoughts, I guess.
But since I don’t know what it is,
The meaning of it is elusive.
It seems to set a direction, then moves on.
Much like my life.
Is that what it is?
Each twist and turn leaves a larger decision, a
footprint of sorts.

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Are found truths eliminated lies?
– proved wrong before truth pursued?
Is time not wasted while examining lies?
Is proving a lie truth 
or is truth hiding elsewhere?

Are lies scientific evidence when found false, like proving the null hypothesis?
Are lies facts when truth is obfuscated?  
Are lies kind when they are white?  
Are lies easier to live when when they bely the meaning of facts?
Are lies truer when falsified?
What about pathological lying?  
What are we going to do about that?

Sketch and poem by MJC

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How is it that 
concern for others is worthless?
real is fake?
data are junk to be ridiculed?
declarations of love laughable?
insults the norm?
while we all fall down, together?  
Is there anyone left standing?
This hurts!

Cartoon sketch by MJC.

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She mystifies me, that woman,
holding her paint brush confidently in her left hand,
sitting as she does left leg over right, appearing poised and comfortable in her flowery dress, hair flying, bun loosely in place.

She looks like a beautiful tiger, or
an exceptional rose hanging over tall branches, alone and colorful.

I wonder what she is thinking, this woman of the late 1920’s, an artist painting just a few years since American women could vote.  
Is she looking forward?

She might be aghast if her visionary powers are excellent.

Is she trying to forget?  While sitting comfortably in that brief time between two world wars.

Is she reveling in the present?
I hope so.

Oil painting on canvas by MJC
Water color on paper by MJC

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Today, yesterday, the day before,
tomorrow,
steam rolls off the grass,sun melts hot colors of summer flowersshade comes in sliced piecesshattered by tall grasseswind sneaks through bushes, frenetically waving.
Black and white of winter, browns and oranges of autumn.
Disappeared forgotten.
Orange lilies bob their headsreaching out above the hydrangeasdelicate flickering petals flyingsedately touching summer hot streams of light.

Red poppies appear.
Last year it was hot pink phlox.

The garden shifts its mooddepending uponwhich way the seeds blowhow the seedlings survive winter storms,which roots drink in cold spring rainabsorb or radiate this simmering heatsometimes leaves just shrugging down and hanging therewaiting for water. 

Watercolor painting and poem by MJC

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False actions, reactions, didacticisms, confabulations, blatant theatrics

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