Market Forces

There's a force plants bulbs for profit 
then severs their stems in spring
there's a green fuse drives daffodils
to genius
while bulbs divide     beneath
such forces in our genes 
though life's beset 
beset by forces unforeseen
like cancer
unfairness is a market force   
it's not the caprice of callous gods    
have not the gods long left us?
then where's the meaning   cause and effect
where's the profit in untimely death?

we go on as we've always gone
hear news
who's up    who's down

accepting it was not us
may these cut flowers
these daffodils 
bring cheer
life comes full circle 
with bold display
cut flowers on a grave.


                  Dick Russell © 2024
  Richard M Russell

                Let Me Tell

                                    for Jorie Graham

 

Let me tell of sunset on solstice eve

staining damp fog with bright warmth 

brown mulch underfoot from fallen leaves

of stars outshone by satellites

of death iced over by frost

of silence

in the snowy woods

 

                Let me tell

                of how things came to be

                and why they stay that way

 

Then early in March mulch is raked away

making room for crocuses, wood hyacinths, jonquils

 

then there will be an unfurling of daffodils 

pale green changing to bright yellow

morning sunlight will slant through leafless trees

highlight acanthus leaves on the fountain

fall on Glen Russell's statue of a naiad

an early plum in bud

winter flowering jasmine

 

after weeks of overcast days sodden with rain 

sunshine and sudden warmth

transplants thrive

kinglets feed in the canopy

while song sparrows forage below

oblivious of an unseen gaze

fixed on them

  

robins return to the birdbath

small trees pruned to produce fruit 

don't shade the garden

green moss turns brighter green

shot weed must be weeded

news from afar only disturbs us

surfing from what's in sight to what's in mind

 

decisions got kicked down the road

not like the cans I kicked in my misspent youth

enjoying the clattering disturbing the peace

but kicked faraway for a status quo quiet

not rocking the boat

not confronting the foe

but appeasing him 

                                    Let me tell

                                    of how things came to be

                                    and why they stay that way

Will cynicism strangle hope in its cradle

now that nine kicked the can down the road?

Will it come clear why they chose to enable

delay, favoring someone who’d goad

insurrection rather than lose to Joe?

An old man of eighty who is slow on his feet

but spry in his brain a formidable foe

carrying the country away from defeat.

Away from judges five males cloaked in black

when they overturned Roe, another whack

at freedom with their jurist’s clenched fist

who trashed women’s rights to favor a rapist.

In November we’ll know what the nine hath wrought.

How we hope the future cannot be bought.

                Dick Russell © 2024

                 Richard M Russell

 

 To Those That Ask

to those 

that glance on this 

     this inscription 

          traveling far afield 

a page that will be read by robots

giving voice

to what is retrievable 

by only those who ask

to those

living enmeshed in sensation

tingling with reality's touch

aye those

you few

that glance on this

please ask for the moon

if you aspire

let's teach the robots to measure this

who asks for the moon

means an un-invaded moon

a moon of mystery

not one where nothing there

isn't already dead

a moon

alive with hope

so ask for the moon

for something much more

than this

       Dick Russell

copyright © 2017, 2024

    Richard M Russell

 How We Hope

Will cynicism strangle hope in its cradle

now that nine kicked the can down the road?

Will it come clear why they chose to enable

delay, favoring someone who’d goad

insurrection rather than lose to Joe?

An old man of eighty who is slow on his feet

but spry in his brain a formidable foe

carrying the country away from defeat.

Away from judges five males cloaked in black

when they overturned Roe, another whack

at freedom with their fascist clenched fist

who trashed women’s rights to favor a rapist.

In November we’ll know what the nine hath wrought.

How we hope the future cannot be bought.

Dick Russell © 2024

 In Andalusia

in the foothills

hooves sinking in loam

amid fallen oranges…

& amid another grove

hooves pressed leaves

twigs grass into the loam

& the loam sprang back…

trying to avoid that grove

but she always confronted me

& weakening i stumbled

into the impress the loam had prepared

hooves lightly on my bones

skin dried by sun

untouched avoided as carrion

& always she was coming towards me

but let me hear she was approaching

while skin swollen

flesh leaving the bone

senses slowed to the rhythm of the grove

which knew seasons and not days

& always she approached me

but she did not come

& i knew she would not

& i could not go or stay

knowing and not knowing

for a moment

i was happy

*

on the night of storm

the sea spat stones

sand girdled the stones

stones lay 

traversed by stars

the land

recumbent

nude drowning

silence breaking on beaches

polyps coral world

colored words

born of foam

rinsed by brine

ova broken on beaches

& in the morning

high snow topped the sierras

gleaming day of mules

pine trails wands of bamboo

oxen & horses

bells jingling

hooves on the beach

 

wound & woven

safe kept in softness

there

& there there

kelp   tow   pebble  strand

gull urchin

anemone

fretful follows the sea

Dick Russell © 2024

Richard M Russell

From Chapman Dick Russell issue, Scotland, 1975