Best Baled Poems

Sending the tending to an unfriended ending,
 yet somehow suspending from rending a newly offending recommending.
Logotype monotype linotype,
overripe stereotype,
 teletyped an unripe heliotype. 
Guttersnipe snipe,
 stipe snipe ripe,
 a wipe type a tripe, 
unleash a withering hype. 


Dip snip,
nip lip,
slip skip,
rip the apple pip
over a...

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A Good Mystery


I love a good mystery
A real whodunit,
I love the Hallmark Mystery and Movie Channel,
Nothing like watching Andy Griffith play the part of “Matlock”
He always figured it out
And revealed who the murderer is in the courtroom,
Sometimes he even played his mandolin and sang,
I love...

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Cold dark wind
Upon my face
The weathers
Turning bad
Black blizzard 
On the horizon
The devils up 
My sleeve
Starched memories
And fish hooks
I turned my back
On society
Bent upon a dream 
Frozen bamboo
Across my legs
Toes that hardly 
Scream.
Sleeting now
In this boat
Afloat upon a field
Left by O’Toole’s
Machinery and mill
Gobbling up arms
And legs
Baled...

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In November when frost was on the punkin and corn was stacked in shocks,
And the snows began to fall and geese flew southward in V-shaped flocks,
'Twas time to gather in the corn for a huskin' bee on the old barn floor,
Where neighbors gathered to have...

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Take these beans the vendor said
They are the best that ever grew
A marvelous crop they’ll bring
The best beans I ever knew
How much for them? A dollar
He put them in my hand
Do you think they will do well?
They are just right for your land
So off I...

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“Poor Silas, so concerned for other folk,
And nothing to look backward to with pride,
And nothing to look forward to with hope,
So now and never any different”.......Robert Frost
…………………………………………………………………………
Feeling old bones resist the labor of harvest
One last time Silas has returned, alas this time for good
To earn...

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Ribbons of purple are splayed out in tractor rows of elegance
A foot off the ground, spreading lavender faerie fragrance
Oh, sweet lavender blue, dilly dilly, Lavender blue, Billy, Billy!
Great day to fall in love, silly silly. Where is sweetheart, Willy Willy?

Be it twilight or daybreak? Matters...

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Sun is rising, birds are cooing,
              and I am up, up and doing,
the billy’s on, tea is brewing
          in younger days waking.
So I’d...

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YOU ARE IN A CAR WITH CHARCOAL BLAZING IN THE BOOT....DID IT EXPLODE :)
Bernie Kinnear was a blacksmith who  needed charcoal
so they brought some by car to the smithy...trouble was it came to life and set fire to
the boot of the car
Bernie Kinnear
Dirranbandi Blacksmith...

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The ink on my diploma
still wet
I lived on my grandparent's farm
for the summer
Their day began with roosters crowing and 
ended at sundown
In between those two bookends of the day
cows were milked
crops were tended
chickens were fed
hay was cut and baled
real people creating real food
for real people


[Imagist...

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Lord, were is my blessing

Well, I now pick a lot of 
cotton and baled a lot of hay

You keep a roof over my head, and 
I just continue to pray

You know, after they freed 
them slaves, they promised 
us forty acres and a mule

You promised...

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WINTER IN AN IOWA CORNFIELD

Why start nattering about lucky tracks
Neath a tarnished night of a waning storm?
Haystacks in a disciplined platoon wait
With hooded coats, caves of hibernation,
Standing in formation with watchfulness.
Six columns and six rows of perfection
Thirty-six baled soldiers in transition
Marching forward in a biting...

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Rolling hills, verdant meadows
Acres lined in evergreens
Brightly coloured maples, flaunting 
Clad in yellows, reds, tangerines
Farmer's fields, neat and freshly-cut
Straw sheaves, twined and baled
Hardy mums, tall grasses, purple cabbages and kale
Cornstalks, and sturdy, weathered mats
Dress and welcome entrance ways
Pumpkins, gourds and sunflowers adorn
Stacked upon rustic wooden...

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I am not made for these modern times
Missouri mud runs through my veins
unspoiled country air flows through my lungs.
my roots are intertwined in the bedrock 
of culture, traditions and folklore 
of a pioneer Midwest

My heart beats with the rhythm
of wind through oak trees
the sway of...

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This is a seven minute write.
In seven minutes, I go to bed.
But first, I will continue.
When ghosts…
When roasts…
Go to bed.
Go away to the barn where hay is baled.
And trails of mud lead to the kitchen.
And the ramblings continue.
I have an eraser.
But to use it?
Would be...

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