Standing on this hillside,
Watching green grass grow,
Have nothing to decide,
Just letting time go.
O, there is something great,
With watching grass grow,
It’s special, yeah, first-rate,
Why, cause I say so.
Then, there is the blue sky,
Way, way up above,
And song birds on the fly,
Flood my heart with love.
You might think I’m lazy,
But that just isn’t so,
You might think I’m crazy,
No, just living slow.
It might help to be told,
So you understand,
I’m past eighty years old,
Doing best I can.
Not complaining, mind y’all,
Happy to walk slow,
On this side of a pall,
Watching green grass grow.
Are your thoughts still leading for poetry?
Do they leave the audience wanting more?
Or born thugs who hide them as a mystery.
Are your thoughts still leading for poetry?
Scare daylights out of them in memory.
Roaring a chainsaw as they reach your door.
Are your thoughts still leading for poetry?
Do they leave the audience wanting more?
Written: March 10, 2023
It was a first rate Finnish firetrap
Anyone who stayed was a big sap
I would have to be dead
To lie in that bed
Place not safe enough to take a quick crap
~ Frustration, first-rate ~
Plan-free poem penning produces
enthusiastic
endorsement
Carefully-crafted couplets
~ collapse
Thinking new present
Recalling past emotions
Meaningless to soul
Without touching a fiber
Envisage better future
7-4-2016
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