hay bales in mound
perfect summer afternoon
playtime on the farm
oh old barn owl
you turn left, you turn right
what do you look for?
iridescent wings
along with orange bellies . . .
sky sweepers soaring
the sharp warning cry
when a nest of birds I spy . . .
barn swallows dive-bomb
Born in a barn raised on a farm
makin' hay come what may
won't do what I'm told
can't be bought or sold
with a mind of my own
don't need politicians
prophets or priests
deciding my decisions
drink from the bottle
drive full throttle
don't get me wrong
know where I belong
ain't got no social graces
know where my place is
do what nature taught me
down in the lower forty
where rattling the bars of their cage
'til the cattle come home
chickens from afar were induced
and returned to roost
while at day's end
the scarecrow he an' me
we be best of friends
swallows'
cobalt blue glistens
as they dart catching insects
at dawn against foggy creek rise
freedom to be alive
A couple soon to be said newly wed,
yet swiftly snuck behind the family’s back
to swear the vow inside th’old shack,
quick forgot’n, buried a secret dread;
A reek awaftin’ out a country shed
left long and fast behind by Spring-heeled Jack,
the stench o’ rot stinkin’ from a sack
discovers a soiled corpse ‘n’a mangled head;
Well…, they ‘was a murder in the red barn,
an absence none—nor husband—could explain,
’til—guess,—what befell the fair lady’s kin?:
’twas a strange dream th’unwound the twisted yarn.
On that farm, packed ‘nside a sack o’ grain,
a body lay stuffed deep down ’n’a storage bin—
Thomas Hobson (1544 –1631)
in 19th century late
a Cambridge ostler and postal carrier
set his priorities straight
he owned a livery stable
of 40 Hackney horses or more
plus boots bridles and whips
and put the horse the cart before
after the animal left the barn
by bolting fast the door
and as precautionary balm
the nag nearest the stable gate
the worn-out equine storm to calm
was the firm rule he did make
this one or none in the stall
was that which customers had to take
or do with no ride at all
but for the paying equestrians
either way they win or lose
as there was no choice but accept or reject
for any of them to choose
Are gay jockeys fruit of the loom,
when riding a race on the course,
and would they need a leg-up,
to get on their high horse?
Bucking the system in a one-horse town,
or in the middle of a stream,
to look for gifts in a horse's mouth,
is not the smartest scheme.
Would a long-faced horse, a sourpuss,
not wanting to be a player,
bolt the barn door
and be a neigh-sayer?
If a broke cowboy, saddled with a nag,
a dark horse of a different colour that's *****,
were bent, a crooked rustler,
would he sell you a bum steer?
barn owl snowy roof
skeletal trees night watcher
in moments hunter
The Chevy speeds by
eyesight pings it,
a reflexive vision
momentarily catches itself
looking back.
The barn is vacant, not empty,
its eyes have been locked open,
it bathes in sparrow and bat time.
Now hollow lids capture, snatch at
a headlong flight of vision.
A snap of fleeting attention
has stabled a glance in a timeless stall
where dust hangs
in a slant of suspended light.
Road barn and car are frozen
as one symbiotic after-image,
until all disappear into each other.
Then without pause or passage
horizons are released,
distance and perspective amended,
as the tremor of a splintered
looking glass
fades behind racing wheels.
Evening walk on Barn Hill
Loved this road, up to Fryent Country Park
So quiet, very friendly, silence is the air here
It gives an open way into an ancient life up
This road is a way to a new world, another life
From the presence of the past, we live there far
This land, this world is an atmosphere; no time
There is no time here. Nil. Expanded timelessness
I want to stay here, stay in the ancient life
This park is past and future, the present is the way
There is only one way to get there; now, the present
Always old times calling only for initiatives; come
Heart of the Nature is open, the hill is home to dance
Life is a motionless, ever-moving dance here; Life
I envy the past. Lucky souls. They here lived
Noble fates, clear desires, lambs, snow-white flock
This time now is December, but the summer of autumn is a remember
On the road was colorful spring and summer, unforgettable emotion
Four months ago, just walking now, sad Winter without snow
Where is the Spring?
Summer?
Autumn?
Always here.
That’s why
I am coming here
Always
Nature
Ancient
Life
God
Looking around with my mind/
With remote viewing/
I see a lady/
She turn on/
Her computer screen/
She beams and smiles/
At the red barn/
On her computer screen/
I smile with her/
Because, I understand life/
I thank the sun ...
The soil, the summer rain,
I thank the apple tree
The fields of golden grain
I thank the corn crops
And the pumpkin patch,
I thank the warm barn
Where new poults hatch
I thank Tom turkey ...
From down on the farm,
And the good old farmer
Who caused him no harm
I thank the potato fields
And the pecan trees,
I thank the earth ...
For bogs of cranberries
I thank this land ...
The sky and the air,
For giving all of us
These things to share.
While the milk cow hastens
Toward a worn barn,
Gray as the edges of melancholy,
Erasing the spring, breaking through Summer
Like Sunday, wearing her best suit
Rustling on the wings of Saturday’s robins,
Starving for Monday, while her words
Still the grief that comes from knowing
The week behind her will not come
Again, peppering the wind
With grace and love,
Intense as the passion, smiling
As milk flows, quietly blessing,
Trembling with songs,
Who reach through the shadows,
Singing melodies with soft eyes,
Brown like the trees,
Swaying softly, silencing every tear
Who dreams of a lasting peace,
Rich as milk who fills up the bucket,
Then the cup, tinting her coffee,
Soft blonde, like a woman whose heart
Melts with prayers spoken,
While the gentle heart sighs,
At a breathless moment when light,
Falls heavy against muddied silhouettes,
Against timbers, foundations
Who decide the cow can confide to the night,
Where peace hides, amid star strewn skies,
On flowing veils of the moon’s rising.
barn swallows flying
in and around covered porch.....
sonar practice time
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