Bee Here Now

I watched a bumblebee

in the paloverde tree

sampling sugars from small yellow flowers.

And for a while

there was no history 

except as regarded the lineage of the bee.

March 15, 2022 (rediscovered 2024)

Herewhere

A casual coffee meeting for a job candidate, get to know you kind of gathering.

We started talking about names, and how three men in the office are named John, well, one is a Jonathan.

Somehow the question of Beatles' names came up:

"Yes," said one person, "there is a John... I don't know the rest. Wait: is Ringo one of them?"

Cognitive dissonance

How old am I?

One of the other Johns, a week older than I,

we made eye contact checking our internal calendars

for historical structure and context:

Are we set in another column now?

How could the Beatles not have carried over?

They made guesses at the other Beatles' names.

John said, "...Paul... ..." which led them to...

naming the Spice Girls.

I exclaimed:

"George Harrison!"

(There is no comparison).

"Georrrrge..." one said; the name had struck a familiar chord.

The madness of this world aside,

the plastic and the politics and the

unrest and forced emigrations and the

hashtag me too men and the 

murderers and the 

people taking selfies with wild zoo animals and getting mini-mauled and the

dictators and there

is a lot to know about this world

and much to keep track of 

and history to know.

Children, listen.

Once in a great while,

chance meetings can make

relationships that fall into place

with such grace

as to bring something wonderful

beyond measure.

March 11, 2019, rediscovered 2024

Gift from the Gray

Toward the window:

what is that funny sound

crackling against the pane

it taps in rapid staccato

what phenomenon? It's the rain!

It seems that I forget it happens

between dry lengths of day to days

and even as the clouds gather

habitual thinking says

expect nothing. So joy ensues

when the song begins--

clapping introduction to a hymn 

of falling, refreshing

rain.

Let the 

soothing 

soak 

in.

(From the Found Poetry collection, From March 3, 2021)

A Walk—Just a Walk Outside

I got superstressed out today. Too many things to think about and not enough room not enough room not enough room too much to do at once at once at once so I put my face down into my hands, covering my eyes and taking a breather and looking at blackness. Not enough room in this whole wide world, not enough time in this clock that goes around and around all day? What compresses these things into urgency? "A walk - just a walk outside," I heard myself think. It was the most rational choice, so I went. On opening the door my mind seemed to catch its breath in the cool fresh air and as I walked the causes that demanded so much from me each slipped into gentle priority. The trees’ leaves, shining and beautiful, the squirrel on the green grass eating a tasty morsel in an aisle of golden sunlight, ah, and the sky, so blue and spacious, to the gentle voice that made the suggestion, I say thank you, you are so gracious.

From January 31, 2019 (rediscovered in 2024)

Flowerscape

A dry wind
rattles the petals of a small yellow flower
no bigger than a pebble
on a thin light green stalk
growing up from a struggling succulent
all by itself
against a red rocky desert-scape

the backdrop a plateau of sedimentary layers of wind sculpted sandstone.

And blue blue yellow hot sky above and around
it’s a wonder the little yellow flower persisted,
almost defying the wind but actually
just being there. Little yellow flower
petals making a shallow poppy cup around an orange red center.
And maybe a bee had come by, or would soon, 

but overall just this scene— forever, perhaps.

Then clouds. Moisture in the air. Raindrops one day.
Then more rain and more
over time, year after year and everything changed.
The sand absorbed what it could and a river became itself
little stones washed from the plateaus
and rocks rolled to the flow of water
and pools formed
and then more water and time and clouds made this their vacation land, always coming back,
and green was sprouting up on the new river banks.

More green and more and for years every year a little more rain came
and the little yellow flower on the light green stalk propagated and proliferated in patches,
even reaching the plateau, perching on rock shelves
and waving to flower neighbors in soft breezes in early evenings.

Birds arrived, and trees sprouted and grew, bringing shade.
And even the rocks seemed to soften, their edges rounding with borrowed mud.
And the water stayed all year long, inviting fish and insects that buzzed about and of course frogs.
All this life appeared because it could.

Now lush and green and flowering and musical with birdsong and breezes in trees and grasses,
with chirps and croaking and hoof steps and paws padding.

With all this sound, so much peace.

The little yellow flower, which had regenerated over generations,
now shimmied in the breezes, among others of its kind and complimentary,
in concert with paradise, because it could.

Jeanosullivan, January 26, 2024

This Is a True Story, A Christmas Story of Sorts

I did not grow up with snow.

Snow and ice are slippery.

I like cold but not ice cold 

(Unless it is a soothing drink on a hot day).

I do not know how to drive in snow,

Nor do I know how to judge

When more snow is coming.

When I was a teenager a friend and I 

Hiked out of the Grand Canyon 

In the December rain after Christmas 

And as the elevation increased

The rain became snow

But by then we were soaked,

And because we had been hot before it rained

We were sweaty.

So the freezing was all the way to the skin

And our Southern California-thin cute ski parkas 

Did not help

Nor did my friend’s dad and his second wife

Who had hiked on ahead when we were at the half way point down below

Leaving us to make our way up and out in the oncoming snow which we did not have the skill to predict.

Neither did they, I hope.

Weakened and determined with no food or water, but snow to munch on,

And this was taking hours, 

I dug my hands into my pockets wishing to find something to eat and discovered half a packet of lifesavers candies, which they were.

We reached the top 

Energized by a little bickering near the end,

And made our way to the motel room 

Where her step-mother sat at the vanity combing her hair 

Only to put her hair curlers back into her bangs—always keeping them there—and a scarf on her head asking what took us so long.

And my friend’s dad picked a fight with her because he didn’t like her boyfriend—

Who wasn’t even there!

So after we got warm

We went out that night

And hung out with

Strangers

Rather than spend the evening with him and her.

The dad and step-mom drove us to the bus station in Flagstaff the next morning.

We waited all day for the overnight bus to North Hollywood.

We had enough money to split a stale sandwich and get two hot chocolates from a vending machine.

We rode through the night with the smokers

Because it was 1978

And the murmuring conversations

And the nodding and the sleeping passengers.

And the dad and son dressed alike who kept patting each other on the shoulder excited about their trip.

We eventually nodded off

and awoke to see bright sun shining in a crisp blue sky and an ugly North Hollywood greyhound station looking just fine to me thank you.

And at that point we called my dad

Who arrived seemingly instantaneously.

He drove my friend to her mother’s house

And me to ours.

We told the story—well most of it—

And I don’t remember what he said but 

I imagine the teetering of maturity and childishness in our story made an impression; it

Did not lead to scolding but instead to a peaceful sleep 

all day and into the night for me, 

after breakfast at home.

December 28, 2020

O Cricket Intermittent

O cricket in the bedroom curtains

Somewhere, somehow

Visibly undetectable

You chirp for a love you cannot find

Unless you let me put you outside,

And yet you hide.

O cricket intermittent, not to be found 

Are you in the valance? On the ground?

I give up, accept your presence.

You chirp-chirpcha-chirp-chirpcha-chirp

then rest

then chirpcha-chirp some more

For nights, 

I wonder about your lifespan,

drift off to sleep.

Nights later, I stop

In a spot where I don’t usually linger

But instinct’s eye catches your motion—

Jump I cover you with a glass no

Jump I capture you with a glass no

Determined so, hunter human focused and keen

Jump covered! Captured, unlikely, unawares,

I carry you swiftly down the stairs 

Open the door to the summer night’s air,

Deposit you in the klanchoe

No longer lost, you will find

Your destiny.

Chirp. Chirpcha-chirp-chirpcha-chirp,

Chirp.

Chirps

On the other side of an office wall,

a conference call. 

I can't discern the discussion but

a high-pitched voice through the speakerphone sounds like birds chirping, which made me think: 

how much message is actually in a bird chirp?

Which led to this:

Sophisticated birds, migrating, communicating, tuned in to Magnetic North, and the other animals - all Nature in balance;

Humans are the only ones so destructive we could ruin the whole thing for everybody.

We think we are so smart but what if

All Nature's creatures have found the balances to strike

and we're the last

to get 

the memo?

—From July, 2019

Atmospheric Conditions, Spring 2020

Driving west to beat a curfew

just declared an hour ago

the pre-sunset sunlight shaping shadows on clouds over distant hills

and maybe the ocean.

On the radio reports of protest

and agitators

reiterations of how peaceful the protests were at the start

how interlopers come for their own reasons to make a fight and skew the focus

how we mustn’t lose sight of the cause.

And those clouds coming in from gathering over the sea

absorbing molecules of skyward mists.

May 30, 2020

My Other Aunt

I once had an aunt who I barely knew.
She came to visit the family when I was quite small.
I'm not really sure how old I was then,
But to me she was up there, and really quite tall.

She stood by the table, having dug in her purse
for her cigarettes and matches, and next, she breathed in.
I looked right straight up at her, and then saw the marvel:
Smoke blew from her nose like she was some kind of dragon!

And I learned something special, that one unnamed day,
That when I'd get older, and age came into play,
I would need to develop some smart beauty skills
Because one day, like her, I might have hairy nostrils!

Lay Low, Humans

Breezes in grasses,

Birds singing—

It has always been like this.

It doesn’t need us.

It’s we who need it.

Lay low, humans.

Quiet down.

—April, 2018

Astronomical Dawn

This morning I happened to get up at the astronomical dawn.

Crisp, cold and windy outside, 

warm and quite comfortable inside.

Looking out the window to the eastern sky,

I saw a light so bright, 

I couldn’t tell if it was an approaching jet. Was it moving?

Concentrating,

no, not moving.

But it’s too big to be Venus.

Like four times bigger!

Maybe it’s a comet? 

(No, If it were, somebody would have said something by now.) 

Must be a vision blur distortion.

So I washed my face,

brushed my teeth,

then looked again as the pink and blue dawn tempered the brilliance:

Now I see, yes, it’s Venus.

…The planet of Love.

So showy.

So many promises.

Literature, meet Science:

Sulfurous gasses.

Shining so beautiful.

(02/02/2022)

Modified Yoga

While kind of like

balancing on one foot

aspiring to be

steady as a tree

(oak or palm

depending on the weather)

even with eyes closed,

to be that certain

unquestionably

I really have no desire

to

sta

nd

on

m

y 

head.

-2016

Silly Spike-heeled Shoes

Silly spike-heeled shoes,
bad for your feet,
hobble you as you
walk down the street.
O, Ladies! Seriously!
in the walk of life
think through your journeys:
Love your bones
and respect your Achilles!

Capitalism and Regulations

From November, 2018:

Okay so here's my sermon on deregulation with regard to capitalism:

You wouldn't have a football team show up with baseball bats, guns and knives - the point isn't to destroy the opponent, it's to have fair play and an engaging game.  During the course of play we see which team is better based on certain merits: how well did they train? Are they eating right?  Are they employing strategy effectively? Do they understand how the game works?  Do they know how to anticipate the behaviors of the other team? Do they look good in their outfits?  That's as far as I can go with a sports analogy for now, so now I'll just lay it out lecture style.

Capitalism, like a game, is a structured set of dynamics that are intended to allow some people to provide goods and services to other people; I don't have the materials or skill to build a car, so I pay someone money for having done so. Now they have a business. Ideally (that's a tricky word here), business people will profit enough to live to work another day, maybe have a nice house and a nice vacation once in a while. After all, they put out the money to initiate the business and hired the employees to do the work they couldn't accomplish alone. 

Since the employees make it possible for the business people to live well, naturally (another tricky word!) the business people pass along the benefits of the business' good fortune to the employees. In the greater scheme, governmental structures ensure that the city can function in great detail, and each person contributes to the funding by setting aside a bit of their earnings and profits to support the common good.  Customers find reasonable prices, and healthy competition allows them to shop around to find the goods or services they like best. Employees have choices about where get the most fulfillment from offering their skills, talents and ideas.

People who understand civic organization look at the overview  and suggest rules for adoption by those engaging in the capitalist game. Those in governmental service work together (oh, a tricky phrase), to determine which rules to adopt and which to let go. Civic conscience (oh boy... I see why this is complicated...) requires business people employ without exploiting the employees, and provide without cheating the customers. These rules, also known as "regulations" are meant to keep honest people honest and weed out corruption -- for example, stop the company from pouring its pollution into the communal river or wearing down roads without paying their fair share for maintenance, prevent price gouging, ensure employees are treated fairly and, because monopoly is prevented (ouch! what the hell happened Mr. Walton?!), employees have choices about where to take their specific skills.

Somewhere along the line, the word "regulation" became synonymous with "oppression".  This introduces us to the dynamic of "marketing" and "PR" (don't get me started).

Imagine the football game again. See the quarterback whip out a baseball bat and clobber the opponent running toward him on the snap.  Aside from that being a mighty skillful feat, it would make the game into a contest of destruction rather than sport. So, regulations are simply rules to keep the game from becoming a bloodbath. Civic and governmental structures are the ways we engage to keep the game intact. Yay team.  (Nice pants!)

The Grainy Bits

We had a small luncheon event in one of the labs at work and I was helping my colleague who organized it. The tables were delivered dirty. I was wiping them down with the cheap hand-drying paper towels at the lab sink. They disintegrated as I used them, and time was running short. My colleague was on the phone giving navigation instructions to the food delivery guy who hadn’t believed her specifics and had gotten lost in a tangle of GPS belief systems.

She was keeping cool so nicely. Time was running shorter and I kept being astonished as the paper towels degraded to grainy bits from the friction against the table tops, and I was announcing my frustrations as they grew.

My colleague turned toward me and let out a sharp “Jean!“ It was a good wakeup from my trance of negativity. Her experience was no picnic either. She apologized but I thanked her and apologized. “You were keeping your cool so nicely and I forgot you might be running out of patience!”

I let the paper towel crumbles dry and wiped them off like sand. The restaurant kid showed up with the food, the guests arrived, the people enjoyed their lunch. Nobody mentioned the tabletops, and I was kindly reminded that defeatism is a drag on others, too.

Diamond or Glass

I used to think a diamond in the rough was a diamond chip that was lost in the grass - maybe I equated it with the image of "a catcher in the rye." Then I went to a jeweler's with a friend who said, "show her the rough diamond!" The Jeweler showed me a diamond in the rough. Looked like a piece of broken glass, slightly worn down. How could she tell it was a diamond? She knew how to look at it.

The Yellow Balloon in July

I don’t like to take out the trash. Where I live, it involves taking the trash out to a locked dumpster having to handle  the dirty lock with your hands to unlock it with a key and it’s tedious.

One day last summer, I had taken the trash out on a Thursday and the following Sunday I went out for my walk and there was this semi-deflated yellow balloon on the sidewalk rolling around.  I thought oh that's interesting. 

When I came back from my walk I could see it rolling and bobbing up the sidewalk and I thought if it goes out into the street somebody might think it's a cat and slam on their brakes and cause an accident. I should pick it up.

I got to the balloon and I could see a dog had peed on it and I didn't want to touch it so I went against my good citizen instincts and left it there.

I went into my house to get some things that I needed to post on the HOA bulletin board. I also needed to bring scissors and tape so I got everything I needed headed to the bulletin board. I passed the balloon again and I thought I really should pick that up but I don't want to.

After I posted the document on the bulletin board I had the scissors in my hand and I realized I could just pop the balloon with the scissors and pick it up and throw it in the trash and wash my hands afterward.

So I did, and when I popped it the scissors instantly became tongs for the balloon. So I didn't even have to touch it.  Since there was dog pee on it, I didn't want to throw it in the trash in my house, so I just kept walking past my front door to the alley to the dumpster. I figured I could lift the lid enough to slide the popped balloon in there, especially because the scavengers have bent the locking rail out of shape in attempts to access our trash—so there would be some wiggle room—and that would be that. And I could still consider myself a good citizen.

When I got to the dumpster, I saw someone's key was tied to the handle on the side of the dumpster.  I thought how convenient!  Someone forgot their key and I can use it!  I noticed, hey, the cord on their key looks a lot like mine and then I realized hey their tag for their key looks a lot like mine and the way it is labeled  "trash can" looks like my writing and then I realized hey that is my key! 

I had not known mine was missing! And so had I not done the good deed I wouldn’t likely have found my key.

It's also amazing that nobody took it. We have a lot of scavenger traffic out there and I would think that would be a real find for a person who wants access to the trash. 

The end.

An Open Account

O phone scammer

telling me you’ll keep my special account open as long as I get back to you this week,

you sound so almost-natural in your reading that

I feel a little sad that this is what has come of your 

parents’ money spent

on your acting lessons.

The Invisible Boundary

The Whole Foods parking lot in Woodland Hills has very small spaces so, when it’s busy, as it is today, the Tuesday before Thanksgiving, people drive around for a long time looking for a space their car will fit in.

I rarely shop there, and it turns out the store also has shopping carts which, when you try to put them away after your shopping trip, if you happen to accidentally pass the narrow, unseen, boundary of the parking lot territory, have wheels that lock up.

So you drag, shove, flail a little, and try to pop wheelies to do whatever you can think of to get the wheels moving on the defiantly braking cart. How can it be so bound up when you clearly see similar carts outside the invisible boundary and you so want yours to join them? You take a periscope view of the parking lot to see that there don’t seem to be any places to return carts, so how do they expect the parking lot traffic to flow freely?

You have loaded the groceries into the car trunk, caught the receipt that the wind snatched up, and now you wrestle the cart, all before the audience of one smiling, patient, probably somewhat amused driver of the car that is waiting for your space. Hefting your weight to the basket handle but getting no momentum, you consider kicking it down onto its side so you can slide it out of the way, but that might fail worse, and somebody might get hurt— you, for example.

Now you spot a warning notice on the cart telling you its wheels will lock if you try to escape the premises with it. But it’s just an antagonist because the boundaries aren’t defined!

If you’re lucky, the waiting driver finds another space then comes to you and takes the stubborn cart off your hands. He makes some of the same moves you did, but he’s committed.  He remarks as he muscles it along that “Wow these wheels really are locked up,” but he’s cool about it and makes the cart go away as you thank him several times, knowing better than to watch. 

2022 and chivalry is not dead. A kindness. That is what happened to me today.

The end.