Picked our grandson up from camp,
A month without a visit.
He ran to us, his “Nana!” shout,
To my ears, most exquisite.
A week with him will be a treat
And even if the weather
Is rainy as predicted, we’ll
Enjoy our time together.
I’ve researched possibilities -
Museums, train rides, boats,
A working farm, a jail, a hike -
We’ll tally up the votes.
But even if we stay at home
With board games and TV,
(Plus iPad time, of course) it will
Be magical to me.
Almond Tree and Prisoners
As a child, I lived near a farm, a farm that was
next door to a prison camp. Russian prisoners
marched up and down trying to keep warm
It was January with much frost, the year 1945
I thought of this today on my walk past my
An almond tree that is situated so well that it catches
most of the westerly sun, yet hidden behind
a Holm oak protected by Nordic wind blasts.
My tree is already flowering, and it has pink petals
shivers a bit dressed in a delicate nightdress.
The Russians had to wait longer for their spring
When it came, it was a false one; they were sent
home and put in prison camps for surrendering
to the enemy. For some, winter is endless.
When winter winds have withered stubble,
Mother Mary maddens me,
whispering words of wonder:
what are we?
I find the farm a fraction futile,
loving life in Larame:
take the truck to Tucson, Tina
or Tracy, Tennessee.
Aardvarks are mere armadillos,
such as subtle souls can see:
pecans suck for plumping pillows:
chambermaids are chowder-free.
Santa Clara’s not a state,
a splurge is not a spree:
Grindr Graham isn’t straight:
Superior ain’t no sea.
William and I went to visit the zoo.
A big sprawling zoo exceedingly grand
We saw lions and tigers, some red kangaroo,
Cute mini monkeys from a far distant land,
And an ostrich who hid his head in the sand.
Past the wild horses on flat open ground
A wide green pasture beneath the blue skies
The wonders of wonders was there to be found
A huge grey elephant, enormous in size.
The poor child could hardly believe his own eyes
The butterfly farm, a wonderful sight
Like watching a dream of magic unfold
Thousands of beauties in motion and flight
Weaving with colours exceedingly bold.
A memory to keep for when I grow old.
In the morning light, a milk bottle stands,
A relic of bygone days, in my trembling hands.
Embossed with nostalgia, a link to the past,
From the dairy farm, where memories last.
As a little girl, I'd wait with glee,
For the sound of the milkman, with bottles three.
Clad in white, with a smile so kind,
Bringing fresh milk, a treasure to find.
The clink of glass, the cool touch of the jar,
Filled with creamy goodness, from cows afar.
A cap of foil, a symbol of care,
Delivered with love, from the dairy farm fair.
Each morning ritual, a simple delight,
The taste of fresh milk, a pure delight.
In that old bottle, a story untold,
Of days gone by, of memories bold.
Now the milkman is gone, the farm a memory,
Yet in that bottle, lives a legacy.
Of childhood moments, of innocence so sweet,
In the simple act of milk delivery, a connection complete.
Farmer B spent the day moving a carrot from Farm A to B.
Why didn’t you plant it in B in the first place asked his wife, C.
He had no reply, for it made sense, and irritated him a little.
She is an older gal with a tiny beard, and sometimes a bit of spittle.
Monday third of May
The curfew must stay
Lockdown now at ten
Rhyme, I must now pen
Public transport over –full
As passengers push and pull
Police on the look-out with a frown
There goes in a hurry, a clown
A spot of rain sends us to the brim
Of disaster - Electricity on the trim
Water from taps, flowing stop
Only hope, from the farm a good crop
We go through the paces
In our shifting places
Hoping for better times
Wonderful tales and rhymes
A soft bed, a good book, a big brother
Listening to stories that sweeten dreams
Expressively read to us by Mother
A fishing pole, bobber, and muddy streams
Catching grasshoppers and earthworms for bait
Walking with Father by lantern light beams
A cousin, a friend, a fun playtime date
Catching horny toads for spending money
Buying balloons – a few coppers bought eight
A peanut farm, a beehive, sweet honey
Eggs fresh from the nest, chicken off the block
Life much simpler then, it all seems sunny
Today I slow down, reminisce, take stock
How sweet my childhood, how fast-paced the clock
"Timing timeless"
Check the light that is within......
Get the vibes and the rahythm.....
Forget your life as it begin.....
Get the signs as it's reading.....
Get the lines keep the grind keep it steady in moment.
All is now, yesterday is gone tomorrow is never.
Time is wine, don't be drunk daily in comments.
All is now stay in it cultivate wisdom and be wiser.
Catch the patterns repeating.
Start the weaving and sealing.
Farm a farmer with yielding.
Feel the feeling that's streaming.
Spinning.
Thrilling.
And healing.
Giving.
Chilling.
In winning.
@Solo Man
I had a dog way back when
With white teeth and tail a wag
He slept so fine in steepled den
Crunched on a chicken, like a rag
With eyes of brown, and fur of black
Patrolled the farm, a canine cop
The silly cats he would attack
And barking noise should never stop
One snowy day he disappeared
Walking a road he often trod
Did not return, as I feared
Where was my dog? I asked God
Then one night, I heard him bark
My friend returned in pitch dark
Shotgun shells, fireworks, an empty casing,
Burnt gunpowder sensed with imagined smell,
Bring a smile as the mind begins onward racing,
Of times past and grand stories to retell,
Hunts to remember; 4th of Julys raising hell.
Even the repugnant is remembered with glee,
Fresh swine manure upon beds of loose straw,
Time on the farm, a boy’s life lived carefree,
Fishing, hunting, and building with grandpa,
Learning gun safety and how to hammer and saw.
A favorite to this day is corn cut fresh,
Dust in the air with stalked rows piled,
Behind the red tractor and an 8 row thresh.
Memories overflow of that innocent child
Of the fun that was had, a boy in the wild.
First light of dawn
Uphill I walked it was still dark, had to be at
the farm a five, milking time. Hard westerly
wind makes the climb tough soon the cattle will
be mooing in their pens, the boss grumpy, I’m
hungry and no time to eat; milking eight cows
by hand is no joke. End of the last hill I see
the farm, there is light in the kitchen,
Emma, my dog, barks, stops when she hears my
steps, ten to five, morning light I stop and catch
my breath, they are not going to think that I was
hasting for them I’ll have a quick mug of coffee
a slice of ham, just like any other day, they will
wonder and the maids whisper, but not ask where
and with whom, I spent the night.
Sensuous the feel of memory,
Ask to know bliss in simple strides;
Near or far drift upon the clouds,
Glimpse happy days where dreams come true;
Urge joy to farm a grand harvest,
Incline sure heart with lovely times;
Now peace knows grace where love finds room,
Emerge with truth that beauty grows.
Mingle the flair for happy feel,
Embrace the sense of here and now;
Meet with fond touch sheer grandeur here,
Obey the hints of your pure soul;
Rise to the times that your soul knows,
Yes love is all in vital reach.
Leon Enriquez
02 January 2016
Singapore
The dog gave a bark
When the cat did a fart
As it woke him from his sleep
Then the cat screeched meaoow
To the sight of the cow
Who'd just done a big brown heap
The smell was atrocious
Was he trying to dose us
The horse in his paddock thought
Then the sheep gave a baaaa
As the whiff travelled far
A lesson in poo you've been taught
Almond Tree and Prisoners
As a child I lived near a farm a farm that was
next door to a prison camp. Russian prisoners
marched up and down trying to keep warm
it was January with much frost, year of 1945
I thought of this today on my walk passed my
almond tree that is situated so good it catches
most of the westerly sun, yet hidden behind
a Holm oak protected by Nordic wind blasts.
My tree is already flowering, it has pink petals
shivers a bit dressed in a delicate nightdress.
The Russians had to wait longer for their spring
when it came, it was false one, they were sent
home and put in prison camps for surrendering
to the enemy. For some the winter is endless.
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