Up from them, athirst
Each of their dust plots
Knee-dropped, but more painful-eyed
Raising what drought scars.
Meanwhile cirrus streaks
Does whose passage leave
Sun-searing, looks down on all
No prayer against bars.
A grower I have been
I grow things green
A stream I have been
Nicest meander you have seen
Gleaming dew, I have been.
Lit by the sun's glowing sheen
You all saw what I have been
tell me now what you have seen
Can you guess for a quarter?
Yes you're right - I am water.
Lord, it is dark inside and darker out,
and black thunderous rainstorms thunder by
blessing the tiller, the grower in drought
but Lord, not all that rages is the sky.
Behold, I am drowning but not yet drowned,
an ordinary man and nothing more
on a quest to find hitherto unfound
the heat of passion that begins the thaw.
In the sum of all hurt this I must bear -
that I too have known the seasons of drought,
and washed am I in a cold bath of fear
by life’s flood of tears and love’s well of doubt.
Still the ground I till lays fallow and torn
but for the pricking briar and piercing thorn.
Written: July 1997
I’d rather be a whistleblower
Fighting for the right
Then just another thistle grower
Plucking out of sight
A whistleblower blows to be
The keeper of our crimes
A thistle-mower painfully
Is catching hell at times
The whistleblower wants to break
The folk who fake on us
The thistle-grower wants to make
The poke redeem the pus
Oh cautiously but selflessly
The whistleblower blows
Oh warily but carefully
The thistle-grower goes
The whistleblower fearlessly
Is fanning freedom's flame
The thistle-grower tearfully
Is plucking just the same.
We are the creators of the earth
We are the flower and the sun
We are the light in the universe
Entangled into one
We are love we are joy
We are every girl and boy
We are the sky at night
Never out of sight
We are the voices in the wind
We are good and bad
We are the happy and sad
We are love up and down
We don't wear robes or golden crowns
We are the farmer in the field
The guns that soldiers wield
We are the women and children
We are the darkness and light
We are never out of sight
We are the builder who lays the line
The grower who tends the vine
Old father time
We are the turners of wood
The dinosaurs who once stood
Often misunderstood
All one under the sun
We are the brothers of peace
Together we can release the great power of love
We are the hungry the blind
We are every human kind
We are one
We are the people on the street
We walk to every kind of beat
We are the world
Aunt June
My aunt taught me...
how to be; a sewer, a grower,
a knower of "things" important.
She taught me to watch the pot,
until it boiled and never look away.
Canning strawberry jelly,
and making sweet marmalade pie
were the easy lessons
in believing in tomorrow.
Blankets made from scraps
to keep the family warm in winter,
kept "devotions" for another year.
Dresses made of flour sacks,
with corn mill colored ribbon...
They were for spring.
Summer was all about the garden,
and planting... "seeds to fling".
We had chicks for a while,
until my uncle lost his job.
Then we had to eat them.
That was a hard lesson in cooking,
"things" you keep close to the heart,
Sacrifice...
beyond dry tears
to feed the ones you love.
My uncle got sick,
and then he died.
June went to work,
ironed for others,
sewed and cooked and made
their lives easy,
as her's was hard.
My aunt never complained.
My aunt was amazing...
a farm woman,
from the mid-west.
She could rope and ride,
and she would never hide
even from
cancer.
My Aunt was a warrior.
Petals have now fallen from the final rose
His forsythia bush is ready for pruning
Weeds are taking over where his lilac grows
And, fall bulbs not taken up are ruining.
His backyard fencing is beginning to sag
And the roof on his house needs replacing
In fact, he has nothing about which to brag
I shall not complain, for I am self-effacing.
Since I enjoy working in my own backyard
It is beautifully trimmed and neat as can be
He watches me spending hours working hard
While he neglects his property assiduously.
My neighbor constantly bemoans of his plot
While I listen, I ride my mower like crazy
I have long since wearied of his pitiful lot,
Neither a shower nor a grower, … he is lazy!
written July 16, 2021
I was a rose cored inside your bosom
a verity of truth so seldom seen
place your hand on the spot where I blossomed
you'll feel the shiver of my petaleen
you were the gardener with the warmest touch
caressing my petals, you made me cry
each gentle kiss a floral scented sigh
thanks to my grower I grew up so much
Winds of change have blown and now you are gone
I'm just a dead flower, sitting on your lawn
Feeling the nip of a wintertime frost,
I realize just how much I have lost.
November 27, 2020
Brilliant red roses
across the way
lit up by the sun
make my day
I've thanked the grower
many a time
I've yet to thank God
~ a grievous crime
Mother is My first World
Philosophy of Mother
Mother is a Nurture
Nuture of Father
Nature of Brother
Mother is a Creator
Creator of our
Creator of Suffer
Mother is a Minister
Minister of Progenitor
Minister of Look after
Mother is a Mater
Mater of predecessor
Mater of Foster
Mother is a Procreator
Procreator of Culture
Procreator of Other
Mother is a Teacher
Teacher of Translator
Teacher of Devoter
Mother is a Doctor
Doctor of Grower
Doctor of Trainer
While on tree became a grower;
Seemed to be slower and slower,
And a big pain;
Constant strain;
In middle found a whistle blower.
Do remember when on me dawned,
Trump appeared to be far beyond,
We believe;
Pity receive;
All our thoughts he did abscond.
So all of my poems how is this?
And object of them you did miss;
Stuck up far;
Obscure scar;
Thought I had been a big priss.
How ironic had been our intent;
Many ways may mind be bent;
Then in town;
Upside down;
So this stupid poem we sent.
State of Hawaii,
sole coffee grower, only
State with a palace.
2019 September 13
howmanysyllables
5-7-5
Gemini seeks a new job daily
In summer she might be a disc jockey or a landscaper
In winter possibly a substitute teacher or a nurse.
Fall is for growing pumpkins, so she becomes a grower.
Spring is for releasing dogs from pens, so you will find her
at the animal shelter.
If you cannot amuse her,
confuse her or bamboozle her,
you will not keep her long.
Gemini seeks a new job daily.
An Inupiat "slow-grower"
Believed he could sink no lower
When an icicle rose
On the tip of his nose
He won "Number 1 Snow Blower"
* * * *
A cold polar bear did stutter
And folk thought he was a nutter
But God loved him a bunch
And dropped off his lunch
With buckets of peanut butter.
MAD MARCH HARES
~~~~~~~
leverets'
first year
hiding
in meadows
very long pointed ears
frolicking fun
growing
mad March
hares
DAFFODILS
~~~~~~~~
bulbs
patiently waiting
hoping
to feel
the warmth of spring
at last
winter
lets go
daffodils
~~~~~~~~
SUNFLOWERS
~~~~~~~~
seedling
very lucky
germinated
rapid grower
when mature follows Sol
most seeds
feed
the birds
sunflowers
~~~~~~
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