BLUE ACRES
Blue Acres is where I want to be.
Fishing and writing are the life for me
Water all around me
please give me that river view.
The fishing
The silence
The writing time
The cooking
Blue Acres I’m on my way!
An acre of rainforest raped lost cures no respect for oxygen.
A former Canadian Mountie
Lost his mule and put up a bounty
Though he searched high and low
He got lost in the snow
And found his ass in the next county
he left his family to serach for diamonds
did not see him for fifty years
the next owner of his home
found the world's largest diamond mine
under the house of the man who left
trying to find something greener on the other side
Come sleep with me she said
Bring some warmth to my bed
That seems to spread acres wide
Now that it’s empty on his side
Just for a while hold me tight
Shorten just one endless night
So full of hours that I have wept
Until exhausted and finally slept
There’s been no word since that day
He rang and said he was going away
No longer needed in his life
Just one more abandoned wife
Oh I can live and will survive
Already starting to become alive
But for just those lonely sheets
Where our love was once complete
Give me this one night as a friend
Help me bring grief towards end
Oh please tell me you will stay
Please don’t yet be on your way
So I held her there as she wept
Held her there until she slept
Then slipped away as first light
Broke the power of that night
Come sleep with me she’d said
Bring some warmth to my bed
Which hadn’t seemed to her so wide
For the time I’d spent on his old side
There are some people
who find gardening
to be a very relaxing hobby.
I am not one of those people,
I was born and raised in the city.
The closest to a farm
that I have ever been
is at the supermarket.
But I will admit,
I like the produce section.
and I like picking
Fresh fruit and vegetables.
Everybody in my family
has a green thumb,
with plants growing
on their window seals.
I was not born a green thumb.
But as life would have it,
I am working in two gardens
on the 7 acres of ironbound.
And since the house and property
is owned by my wife's uncle
whose nick name is Shady
I like referring to the place
as the shady rest.
It is here on the
seven acres of ironbound,
that I work with a tractor.
And refer to myself as
Farmer Bob.
I am the Lord of the manor
I always have servants at hand
I own a big house in the country
And acres and acres of land
I have tenants that live in the village
Though their cottages may not be grand
They pay rent to me because as you see
I own acres and acres of land
When I visit my people
Their respect I always demand
They all bow to me that's what I like to see
Because I own acres and acres of land
Many times I have climbed up my tower
The vista before me I've scanned
I cant help but smile because mile after mile
I own acres and acres of land
I was born to a wealthy family
My path to the top was well planned
It is a real boon that silver spoon
And acres and acres of land
Yes I was born into riches
My tenants say I should be damned
But I don't really care because out there
I own acres and acres of land
54, 000 California Acres Lost
While you're snug in your pajamas
Or having French Toast,
Californians are being evacuated
before they roast!
The winds at sixty,horrific miles an
hour.
Torching homes and trees in beautiful
Sonoma County as they burst.
Wine country, Napa, closing all its
all schools,
As the Sonoma fire growls and is more
Than cruel.
Millions living without any power.
Please say a prayer or, three!
For those on the run, trying to get
free.
With winds at sixty miles per hour,
the footage shows,
I bow my head in prayer.
Not comprehending the such hot, red,
vistas.
But on my knees for my fellow
Californians in flight..
My unknown, brothers and sisters!
October 28, 2019
4:00 a.m.
Years have come
Years have also gone
Tears and pains are still on;
Memories fresh and vivid
And families still livid
Pains so real, yet a constant
Scars as reminders of....
Of the 16 hallowed acres,
On the 11th of September 2001
16 bloodied acres of Manhattan
estate, a memorial
The symbols of America under
siege
The heroics of men and women to
the death
World trade centre, never again
World trade centre the stage
Where terrorism took front page
Announcing it's global age
16 blood stained acres, hallowed.
Reminders of what has been,
Reminisces of what would have
been
(Written on 01/04/2015)
I don't know much
about politics and such
I'm just a regular farming guy
Check the water table,
tend to the crops
Spend most my day scanning the sky
But I will tell you what I do know,
saying something don't make it so
Can't no politician
make the wind patterns change
Can't no politician
bring me much needed rain
I can't live on empty words
by career promise makers
Words won't turn my dry ground
into God's green acres
I don't know much
about politics and such
I'm just a rural farming guy
Check the farm animals,
tend to the calves
Do all the little things to get by
Then when the sun starts to set low,
I eat my supper and listen to the suits crow
Can't no politician
make the ground yield more grain
Can't no politician
make the harvest time be rearranged
I can't live on empty words
by upstart promise makers
Words won't turn my withered ground
into God's green acres
My dream shines brightly with ambitious gleam,
And in my heart, its vivid brilliance rivals even sunbeam.
I dream to be among the ranks of landowners,
To have thousands of acres and a hanseatic house,
Adorned with colorful feathered grouse,
And lush gardens fit for soirees and dinners,
Gazebos hosting bands and crooners,
And a view of a river as fair as the Great Ouse.
By day I shall paint,
And write prose and poetry
Lauding flora and fauna.
By night I shall play
Baroque tunes on a lute
Or Bach on a harpsichord.
All rights released into Public Domain
Sept. 26 2016
Three style II poetry contest
Rainfall came heavy,
followed by crushing flood
that swept much away.
The sun came up today,
as usual,
but with a difference.
While we slept,
rain changed to snow,
quarter-size flakes
accruing on the wet earth.
Temperature dropped
faster than snowflakes,
freezing the garage door shut.
Morning brought a crystal cloak,
to cover winter's drab face;
a blanket of jewels,
winking in the sun.
A priceless gift,
from the Diamond Maker.
Long long ago and far far away, lived an angel better known this day....
As Lucifer with big bright eyes and much bigger, dreams ? Twas a lovely lad
Blessed his majestic voice in that be, crystal waters; her cherubs adored this child
Perhaps you see for nothing is always what it seems ? Jettison the light their stars at dawn
Anew as news of time's glass; these stirring images now rippling, through divinities kingdom ?
Bronze her beauty waiting amid the turning stall ? Tugging on tomorrow's reins; and off she lept..
Some say there was a vision; while others believe surely it were a cause ? Either be we all agree; joyfully.
A law firm partner living on Madison Avenue
bought a farm in the country. What a strange thing to do!
Oliver Wendell Douglas and Hungarian-born wife,
would head for Hooterville to start a new life.
Oliver and Lisa moved from their high-rise penthouse,
to a ramshackle farm with a dilapidated house.
Oliver wanted to leave New York City and Times Square,
to live in the country with chores to do, and fresh air.
To be dragged from New York, to a life that is bucolic,
became disastrous to wife Lisa, and quite tragic.
However, she held her husband Oliver very dear.
In this new life, poor Lisa had to persevere.
Douglas bought this farm from a crook named Mr. Haney.
Haney kept trying something new to get more money.
Oliver deals with the absent-minded Mr. Kimball.
He has a scatterbrained farmhand named Eb, but that’s not all.
Oliver climbs a telephone pole to make a phone call.
Neighbors Fred and Doris Ziffel have a pig named Arnold.
All except Oliver knows what Arnold has told.
Our Oliver would get himself into jams constantly.
All these things combine to make a great comedy.
Not for the contest
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