Long Fencepost Poems

A venetian red yearling’s head
Pops up
From behind a fallen log
Licks rouge from its lips
And the syrup sipped from dark maple bark
Ears tweaking
To the snow-crunch creak
Of my dog and me approaching
From down the trail

Forest
Tamed by these...

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FROM A HOSPITAL BED
Wordancer

Even if I’m dizzy with an aching head, 
I must not disturb the others in the beds
In this hospital ward where not much is said
For fear of making a fuss.

It’s not much...

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She’s a switchblade, blackjack,
Knuckle-duster dame.
Got the proper block and tackle,
Lash your rigging to the frame.
She put the drill press to your taproot
And the grindstone to your saber.
Good for sharpening your senses,
Keeps you on your best...

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In the meadow a single robin winters over
A hearty bird of sturdy disposition and feather
Oblivious to the cold, he thrives; moreover,
Appearing now and then despite the weather.

A hearty bird of sturdy disposition and feather
I have...

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though ludicrous the fortunate
way around the storm may be
the violent mannerism found
inside the calm beneath the
skin behind the eyes along the
quiet spine that swims just like
the candlelight which burns
around midnight when all those
imaginary creatures we’ve...

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“Perching on a fencepost, the meadowlark calls in sweet trilling tones like a solo marimba.” L. Milton Hankins

The meadow lark happily sits along the fencepost singing away
and watches as Milton appears all aglow and here...

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Mornings to me 

are not an exiting crescent moon
glowing gold in the west,
preparing to retire 
below a distant tree line silhouette

Scattered footprints
in the glistening dew
on a lush lawn 
still dreaming of the day before

Cantaloupe skies...

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Perching on a fencepost, the meadowlark calls
in sweet trilling tones like a solo marimba.

I mimic her voice and watch her curiosity
as I stroll among the goldenrod and yarrow,
the pathway winding through a welcoming maze
of autumn...

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My mornings... 

are not an exiting crescent moon
 glowing high overhead,
preparing to retire 
below a distant tree line silhouette
~~
Scattered footprints
 in the glistening dew
on a lush lawn 
still dreaming of the day before
~~
Cantaloupe skies tickling
...

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When morning comes too early in the day,
And I have not yet begun to plan the afternoon
I shall make some time for myself to play.

For such a day leaves room to be the buffoon,
And find...

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First, remove the eyelids—
they hold too much fiberglass.
Grind streetlight into gunpowder,
cut it with gravel—snort the cocaine dusk.
Take the sidewalk like heretic communion,
metal-flake wine, asphalt host.

She blinks razors.
Stars break in her clavicle.
You don’t touch her—you calibrate.
Banana...

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First, remove the eyelids—
they hold too much fiberglass.
Grind streetlight into gunpowder,
cut it with gravel—snort the cocaine dusk.
Take the sidewalk like heretic communion,
metal-flake wine, asphalt host.

She blinks razors.
Stars break in her clavicle.
You don’t touch her—you calibrate.
Banana...

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They stood like rhymes
on fencepost spines
with wisdom scrawled
in shaving thymes—
a roadside gospel,
terse and sweet
that preached with
meter, grit, and heat.

Rosemary likes
a clean-shaved man,
if wooing her
is in your plan.
She’ll linger near
and take your hand
and proudly wear
your golden...

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After a moment
when something becomes
what it has always been
and creation comes flying in
as natural as breath--
now that shakes the earth
for me!

It takes an afternoon
of wondering to ease that away.
Anything will do to set it off:
an...

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I won't leave you Bluebird 
Forever I will be
Your troubadour in waiting 
Where no one else can see
My heart is yours, it has been
I penned a little note
Then hid it in a fencepost 
So many...

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Barbed wire makes illusive shadows
the sun is going down slowly,
a lazy red spoon
in your corner of the sky
it must be ten degrees
but you've been sitting on that
fencepost
all day
I never asked you questions
I know better when...

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The ILLUSION of a TIMELESS SILENCE
Drenched the RUSTIC creaking barn
Its tortured wind scarred face
Snarling at the SWIRLING winds

A lonely BLOSSOM sprouts atop a fencepost
Mice scurry about an empty silo
A naked scarecrow dances in a barren...

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The fencepost, bits now
Sunk below the surface of
The dirt, lay broken much the
Same as that day, years ago,

Little Georgie told his Ma, with
Excitement building in his voice,
Hurried by his mates pleading
Nearbye "Momma, I'll fix the
Fence...

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