Old BoysOld Boys2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Riding down country roads
to local farms on a Saturday
with my granddad
to see equipment auctions
as the old boys cashed in
Standing there in bib overalls or Dickies
with their dark glasses on
smoking pipes and cigars
they'd talk politics or crops
their deep voices rumbling quietly
I was enthralled...listening to the auctioneer
rattle off prices at breakneck speed
for a Farmall tractor going once
Sold to the man in front...
Or grandpa would take me with him
to the local VFW Post 6464
on Thursday evenings
to play Euchre with his friends
I'd bring along a few dog-eared
Reader's Digest magazines to read
as they played
Every so often I would walk over and
say hi, see how grandpa was faring
Usually he was cleaning house
winning almost every hand he played in
The ladies would bring a cake
and we'd have that with coffee
It felt...comfortable in a way
I find hard to explain
Sitting there surrounded by veterans
men who still wore those black-rimmed glasses
and their hair was
Evergreen And EverlastingThis is polite society you're in.Evergreen And Everlasting6 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
In less than no time, tongue and pen,
Their murmur more like the sigh we sigh,
Fills me with fear I'll be left to my fate.
Two memories that long had lain
In snow and mist
A hundred miles away,
Is sadder than any words
That I might have sung.
Like a star fresh fallen out of the sky,
Its light poured softly in her lap,
Of almost too much love...
"I was looking for you-"
"No one can know how glad I am to find-"
"It is no miracle our mood is high."
With all this talk about the hope of youth,
When the boughs are right,
And by right divine-
Such auspices are very hard to read.
But one thing is sure,
To kiss and drink each other's breath
Is too much for the senses.
Then for years and years,
Our chance of being people newly born,
Of mingled butterfly and flower dust-
The play seems out for an almost infinite run;
Such as it is, it promises the prize.
The time was Autumn, but how anyone
Couldn't believe that so much black had come there,
Which shows how sad an
How Do You Tell ThemHow do you say...How Do You Tell Them2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
how do you begin
to tell the next generation
How the world once was...
Should one speak of fashion trends
the pegged jeans
and big hair
Or perhaps the yearly
(if not more often)
vacations Up North
to crystal clear lakes
beneath diamond-bright skies
Watching as the big-block jetpumps
with the loud, metallic-flake paint jobs
roared across the waters
while we sat on the sand
listening to Phil Collins
How will I tell them
about the games of Hide and Go Seek
in between the pines
when the air was soft and fragrant
with youth and promise
Perhaps I'll them about
the hayrides in the Fall
sitting on the bales of straw
watching the fiery parade of colors
Some Things Are StrongA country table set for a threshing gang lunchSome Things Are Strong9 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
In the deep green shade of a towering maple.
While the sun shines hard, the men will toil at the harvest
Till the last sheaves are done.
Then they move along to the next farm
To begin their work again.
So it is with a poet
Who has spent his years haunting
The rock-strewn fields and birch-lined logging roads
Of New England.
Learning the colors of her moods,
Listening to her songs
In a thousand laughing brooks;
Wondering at the cathedral stillness
Following a January snowstorm.
I've watched the burning sun make his way
Down behind the rows of corn
And fieldstone walls.
With a tip of my hat to the crimson reds
Along the horizon line
I bid him go till he brings the morning
With him once again.
It is good to bring to mind
The paths I've trod, the lakes I've fished,
And neighbors I've met in passing,
Perhaps in a simple dooryard.
Where a dog is barking from the porch,
And cotton sheets hang on a clothesline
Drenched in the lilac air.
Closed For BusinessClosed For BusinessClosed For Business2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
read the sign on the door
of my heart
Betrayals and disillusions
a bastard alchemy
to turn fire into ashes
It isn't safer
here in the wilderness
Dark thoughts wander by
often turning their heads
askance of my self-imposed exile
"O why do you remain here?"
And I reply, "I have become accustomed to the desert."
Here in these arid wastes
there is a species of solace
which grows in the shadow of the thorn bush
There is no time here
for it is endlessly slipping by
I cannot grab it
No mere man
may hold those reins
And on into that eternal night
restless as the sea which