"May is the month of promise and the sweet beginnings of summer." – Unknown
May, the month to dream.
of long days and sunny beams.
Of Picnics and barbeques,
and playing games of horseshoes.
New sprigs up from the ground,
will bring vibrant blooms all around.
Songbirds out singing their song,
serenading all season long.
Nature’s awakened by choice-
It's time to reset and rejoice!
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 golden wheat
steady fall of summer rain
on metal porch roofs
My voice is the sound
of pickup trucks on gravel roads
tractors plowing through gumbo
hoot of owls from leaning red barns.
yip of foxes or the howl of coyotes from
across green pastures under full moon’s glow
trumpeting of roosters greeting the day
song of blue jays, cardinals,
red wing blackbirds
caw of crows pecking through early snow
on harvested corn fields
beat of horse hooves
lazy bawling of cows
My nostrils are filled
with the smell of
wildflower meadows,
fresh baled hay
alfalfa, soybeans,
and apple blossoms
I am lightning bugs on summer’s eve
coon hounds asleep on sunlit porches
family picnics on red checkered tablecloths
horseshoes, freeze tag and kick the can
I am unlocked doors and open windows
rocking chairs and back porch swings
I am outdated
Close only counts
in horseshoes
and hand grenades,
but you never
even tried!
"To thine own self
be true..." ~
Many a lunatic have mouthed
these words.
Problem is, there are two selves~
our Lesser and Higher:
The Lesser, that which we
assume daily; and the Higher
which is an eternal elevation
unreachable -- here we have to
settle, like with horseshoes, close
and closer, but only God is the
Perfect Ringer!
To be one's self,
a perfected self, as God sees us
and challenges us to rise to daily,
is to be less personal, in an earthly
ego sense, and more magnanimous
in a pure loving sense.
God is a
community...of all that is, and all
that can ever be. To separate ourselves
from God, mentally and spiritually,
is to be an Independent Destroyer --
Satan's Fall...was his wrong step.
Into oblivion....
-------------------------------------------
Not to confound nor confuse:
Communism, is not Community.
And Socialism, is not Social....
God's Community is, total independence
from sin.
-Let's see Cortinario with fattened foot
If you answer me, who says
To everyone who sees him:
If my mouth opens
You'll open too.
Clytocibe: -The Flycatcher
From the Cathedral of Burgos.
-Very well Cortinario
You know what you know.
-Today are you going to take the mules to water
At the fountain in Ejido?
-Why do you say that?
-Because when you come for water
From the hermitage where I meditate
I feel the horseshoes.
-Well, you're going to feel them even more
When the crab puts you
In the cave.
-Oh no. Not that.
-What do you mean no!
You know: saying “oh no”
Is like saying *******.
-Shut up, silly boy.
Pray without sorrow
For at the foot of the altar awaits you
The Devil who watches over you
With a paschal candle
Lucent in his hands.
Picnic tables,
dishes labeled,
all red, white and blue.
Grass in the shade,
blankets are laid,
keeping babies cool.
Cold beer on ice,
lemonade's nice,
or some sweet tea too.
The chicken's fried,
the apple's pied,
which dessert to choose.
Children happy,
old folks napping,
teens are at the pool.
Bats are swinging,
horseshoes ringing,
maybe just a few.
Babies crying,
old men lying,
how they always do.
I'll catch up on,
things going on,
gossiping with you.
It's time to leave,
but I won't grieve,
I know it is true.
No need to fear,
cause come next year,
we'll be back in June.
Humid and hot
Scorching parking lot
Longest day, shortest night
Light and dark fight
Shorts and tank tops
Sandals and flip flops
Cutting grass
Catching bass
Beaches and amusement parks
Hungry sharks
Summer-do’s
Badminton and horseshoes
Green grass
Oaks and Sassafras
Daisies and sunflowers
Sun is up for hours
Bonfires and torches
People on porches
White, red, yellow, gold, orange, and green
What a beautiful scene
Lemon, orange, and rose
Litha strike a pose
Power, creativity, and healing
Sights are appealing
Brightness and inner power
Stop to smell a flower
Litha is a scorcher
Some think it’s torcher
Some think not
Wow, is it hot!
I remember those Saturdays in the park
We picnicked and played the live-long day,
As I recall, nothing seemed ominous or stark
I remember those Saturdays in the park,
Softball, horseshoes, badminton ‘til dark
Seems life was filled up with fun and play
I remember those Saturdays in the park,
We picnicked and played the live-long day.
Written April 2, 2022
Snapshot Dating
The right place
The right time
Again the day begins with
Faint sunshine
Over the sleepy villagers
Gathered in cities like stooks of corn
Stacked against the rainy form of
Another stormy morning
The black & white snapshot
Might tell a better story of
Grandfather sitting silently
On hay
Perfectly posed
in a quiet repose
He’s said nothing since his funeral
That Saturday
In town
The young boys gathered round
The Model T with the flat tire
It’s easier than replacing horseshoes
Said the young liar among them
Lighting a smoke they went about
The work before them
Greasing their fingernails in the
Futures of Oil Barons
The someday of overcoming fears
Has come and gone
The guides have taken the supplies
And gone their way
There is still plenty for the taking
As is love for the making of
The generations yet to come
You'd hear them every morning
Like a band of baritones
The echoes of the horseshoes
Clacking, on the cobblestones
Each huckster with a wagon
Pulled behind a blindered roan
Parading back and forth between
The rows of old brownstones
One would have fresh vegetables
And one would have fresh fruits
Another might have leather goods
Like saddles, shoes or boots
From furniture to pots and pans
Each peddler resolute
But if you looked then walked away
They'd follow in pursuit
Some just made deliveries
Likes eggs, or milk, or ice
Regardless of their service
Each one friendly, each one nice
Though some might have a gimmick
Like a special, to entice
If you had bought from them before
They might just drop their price.
By Daniel Turner
Suggestions for a great day
For my love for his birthday
A fun night away
Let me know where we’ll stay
Or a night on the town
Where we act just like clowns
A quiet evening dinner
Could be the winner
A hike in the park
With a game of lawn darts
To see you grin
Would make the night a win
So let’s don chef hats
And cook meals in large vats
Concoct a love potion
Or swim in the ocean
You’ve had my heart
Clearly near to the start
So lean over here
Let’s toast to you dear
Listen to me babble
Of horseshoes and scrabble
Anything that makes you happy
I could go on and get sappy
Whatever your call
I like it all
As long as I see
You’re right here with me!
Written 07/21/17
You should fear the fourth of November.
Because your old butt is sitting on a powder keg.
After a summer of disease and restriction.
After a summer boiling over with George.
The young are holding the matches.
and day
upon
day
upon
day
The media spits gasoline into their pimply, black-veiled faces.
The "black veils" have no immunity to losing.
They've been weaned on participation trophies.
For bringing up the rear.
They were raised by the over-tolerant villagers.
The villagers are functional idiots.
Never spanked, now they've broken rank
with civility.
Carrying left-handed commie socialist shanks.
Encouraged by professors of anarchy,
You should fear the fourth,
Because your old butt is sitting on a powder keg,
If the orange messiah wins, the brats will be pitching matches and gasoline.
Like we used to pitch horseshoes and pennies.
Summer’s seasoned lacings, all fetching,
uplift timid heartbeats with etchings.
Sunshine warmly touches me sky brushed.
Languid summer holds playtime sketching.
Touching water’s velvet soft richness,
sensuously tender in thickness,
captivates my deepest of senses.
Water must thrill summer as mistress.
Delight I hold when my garden shines
with produce sun thriving on green vines.
Sorrow stirs when garden grows dirt-dim
from Autumns push upon summer lines.
No coat, no sweater – summer bare feet –
dressing is a bit of style pieced sweet.
Summer freedom within her Eden
lifts my joy on high inside complete.
Horseshoes, croquet, hiking on park trails,
fishing, crabbing, grilling lobster tails -
all eases for adult stressed creases,
all pieces of summer’s bright details.
In summertime, I am a thrilled child
innocently day tripping beguiled
thru exciting treasures season swayed
until autumn shades persuade sun’s exile.
How many remember pitching horseshoes
Dating myself, remember when we schmoozed
Naughty that was
Today, no big fuss
Normal as pooping, it's no longer big news
If you were to be beheaded in days gone by
The axe wielder, one hoped, was an experienced guy
Make it good, really good news
Close is good only in horseshoes
Blood loss would be draining and eventually you die
STRANGE!!!
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