Seeds of a Bailout

The chilly wind blows
leaves hastily fall.
In shattered scarlet
trees, young and old,
shiver.

On Wall Street,
behind bleeding screens,
reddish clumps
become burning fires.

Among branches’ shadowy limbs
woodpeckers retreat
their black beaks blunt.

Hollow eyes stare at the panicked street:
lies tangle in greed climb the twisted charts.

Soon, it all will turn to ash
inhaled by everyone–
wring sweat and blood
from our flesh.

Plowing through billions of seeds,
we hold our breath–
with the coming snow,
what else but plowing?

(published in “Tough Time” when the money doesen’t love us: (Black Moss Press) edited by John B. Lee)

An Invisible Cocoon

I dislike caterpillars.
They cling to fresh leaves,
as if coming
from nowhere.
Crawling or curling up,
they seldom fear my coming near.

I must confess- I envy them:
Leisurely they nibble the green foliage
with an indifferent look.

I wish to get rid of them,
but I don’t want to touch their droopy bodies.
With a stick, I fling them
one after the other into the air.
Where do they land? In the bushes or on the soil?
I don’t care.
“Good bye!” I wave to the little noodles.

Hot winds blow in the early summer.
I almost forget —
near my garden, under threads,
green and light cocoons dangle,
all wrap in silence.
So they doesn’t bother me,
and I let them be.

On the hottest morning when the air is still
a yellowish pouch drops and cracks.
Something trembles and unfolds.
All of a sudden, wings flutter
and take off.

I only catch a glimpse of a butterfly.
I want to call, “Wait.”
The empty crust rolls aside,
“Too late!” as if a sigh drops upon my own skin.

It won the third place on http://wildamorris.blogspot.com/2010/09/september-2010-challenge-winners.html