Simple Leaves

by SL Ruth

Simple leaves
in every form
hanging grainy down time roughtened limbs,
blowing stripes of green in a summer wind.
Lime green sprouts
tightly coiled,
ruffled edges spilling out
pleated like a child's paper fan
to unfold slowly,
under shade of mother's bower;
then, warmed by sunshine until they are browned,
blistered, toughened,
the simple leaves
spread wide, and breathe,
then curl on edge, again.
They filter light and water
through transparent spider veins.
shooting nourishment
up tiny tubular stems
to the heart of the tree
and beyond, to the roots
until autumns's chills
wring bright the chloroplast
and in a final blast
the leaf falls free
alone, it dies in glorius hue.

How like leaves we people are
when viewed as the whole
we live our lives hanging from
a rope, or tree,
and then, if we are lucky,
in a final shot of color
we shout out messages of who we are,
what we wanted, but
answers are merely whispers from the tree
as the wind blows through,
then we drop, if fully spread and veined
and painted, or not
and die in the cold, hard ground
like the simple leaves
go our simple lives.

Morning Fracus

by SL Ruth

In those moments of early day
when the sun's rays
precede it
I pause to watch
two young cats at play
on the upstairs deck.
Tightrope pawing in and out
between grayed rails
suspended high above the earth
one cat swats a length of spindle
broken from a wooden swing;
it rolls toward a narrow lath
that binds the precipice.
Both cats have yellow and orange striped fur
long and thick and
bathed in morning's golden glow.
When they bend, or take a step,
such as sticking a coarse and curled tongue out
wet on a paw,
their rich winter furs clump
into wedge-shaped valleys
glazed in surreal outline
by the hazed light.
One cat folds, an accordian,
rehearsing a precise score;
his slick, oval, marbled eyes
a shimmering tint of lemon yellow
glints with anticipation;
slits of grained lines dilate
as the cat calculates the prey.
His brother, unsuspecting,
is batting the stick.
A caterpillar tail hooks at
the end, an involuntary and spasmodic
divulger of scheme,
as though divided brain cells can
not control the movement,
or the cat is simply unaware of his tail;
he extends his claws in separate
and tense individual pods, and the nails
plane splinters from the wooden
planks of the deck, like
a racer on jump start,
preparing.
At last, bellows fling wide
and in perfect striped discord
the cat arcs, a feline harmony
as valleys of yellow and orange
pleat into the sputtering attack.
He pounces. Both cats howl.
The stick, nudged from the fray,
rolls to deck's edge, wobbling,
an irresistible invitation to both cats.

Suddenly, the sun blatantly glares
across the instantly
shadow-slatted cats,
a flash, like a candid snapshot,
draws two molded stares
from four glassed eyes.
The dangling stick hangs unattended,
balancing the throbbing call
to cats
no longer there.
The stick slows, then rests,
like an abandoned sundial
pointing toward the rush of the new day
a testament of time passing.
I hurry down the stairs
behind the startled cats
to begin my own day.

The Rose of Sharon

by SL Ruth

I am the rose of Sharon
lest my loved one should forget
to remember me as less than this
would forfeit tenderness

I've cradled him at evening time
in summer's shadow deep
caressed him to my breast and more
through winter's purple sleep

Hath loved him from the depth of me
his children plain to see
they dance and play across the lawn
delightedly carefree

Lavender is my china heart
as fragilely I come to thee
velvet petals blossum trust
that cannot bear a frost

Whispering, I entreat you dear,
be sensitive of your power;
cherish love with gentle care
for I am a dainty flower.