THE IDES OF MARCH
by Nancy Scott
TABLE OF CONTENTS
- Bees in the Cherry Orchard
- Over and out
- Ecclesiastical Harlot
- Hear Wave
- Mother’s Day
BEES IN THE CHERRY ORCHARD
A soon as the blossoms open, bees
come to gather the precious pollen.
They’re all business, the bees,
working the trees from dawn to dusk
until the petals fade and fall.
When my ears worked better, I could
hear the buzzing from the back porch,
fifteen or twenty feet away. Now I wait
for traffic on the road to slow, then walk out,
stand under the nearest tree, and let the sound
envelope and invade me, not so much hearing as feeling it.
It comes inside and takes me over,
the ecstasy of creatures doing the one
single thing they were born to do.
And in the this way, the ritual
becomes a part of me.
I am the singing and the song,
the humming and the honey.
OVER AND OUT
Better than we,
cell phones know
communication between us
We punch in numbers and are
sent straight to voice-mail.
We’re on the road and
don’t pick up, or
we’re in the shower and
Machines receive our calls/cries
and record our sad/mad messages.
Our ears are not in service
at this crucial time, or
have been temporarily
I was sprinkled as a Presbyterian baby,
then became a Catholic when RFK was shot.
Back in the day I played with pagans,
sat with Sufi’s, chanted with hari krishna’s and
danced with dervishes.
Later on I prayed with Pentecostals,
messed around with Methodists,
quaked with Quakers and was
baptized by a one-legged Baptist.
You get the idea. I was faithless.
For years now I’ve been a musician
in a tiny country church, and here’s
what I think of my checkered past:
All those twists and turns in the road
that so shamed ad embarrassed me?
They were really, all of them,
so help me God, signposts showing
the way to Heaven.
Rising before dawn to do a
I try to repeat Green Planet
with every breath I take.
But brown grass underfoot distracts me,
and Global Warming worries keep
interrupting my chant. My thoughts
are more Revelations than Zen.
Is this it then, I keep wondering,
the point of No Return?
Have we gone and done it,
murdered Mother Earth?
Wearing a blue bikini
and whizzing around the yard
on a rusty old riding mower,
she deftly steers with one strong arm
while the other holds her naked baby
boy on her lap.
A modern-day madonna and child,
making circles and figure eights
under the glorious halo of the sun.
banks of the
raising our cabin-
under the stacks of lumber
mice building their nest
Bio: See my first chapbook, “Eight at the Equinox” here on Cavalcade of Stars.
“Bees in the Cherry Orchard”, “Over and Out”, and “Raising Our Cabin” first appeared in The Camel Saloon.
“Daffodils” was published first in the Plum Tavern and “Ecclesiastical Harlot” appeared first in Cavalcade of Stars.
“Heat Wave” was first published in Vox Poetica