Long Unplowed Poems

Now, unlike my usually trenchant literary librettos, i regale the unknown (tum me) reader for savoir faire articulation, elocution, and indomitable tour de force proffered by spectrum of bounteous expropriated hegemony rightful to Mother Nature....

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My sudden kiss caulked the cracks between the breasts
                          ...

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Their love simmered upon a gentle range
Fanned until it burst into fiery flame
Fueled with lively passion it sparked exchange
Year upon year it couldn't be quenched or tamed  

Renewed each spring like the gardenia's bloom
Sending...

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On Snow Shovelling

A foot of snow fell by night
With no let-up in sight.
(“Brrr, it’s cold out there.”)–
A mutt rebounds past my window,
As I contemplate the morning weather,
While sipping my hot cup of coffee.

By the street-lamp’s...

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I love to watch a farm awaken in the early spring,
Especially as the birds in the forest happily sing, 
The farm knows how to be itself, profound and true,
Like the faded red barn, quietly beholding...

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He squandered time, left fields unplowed,
in search of highs, pursuing thrills,
neglecting that he'd been endowed
with gifts to cultivate and till.
He wandered where his heart did please,
but pleasure slipped by small degrees.

A random walk, no certain...

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Even the moon was cold
wrapped in clouds, like
an old shawl, dark, no
twinkling stars shown,
only the breath as they
walked, single file, to
where they did not know.
Past farms lit by only
what little of the moon
dared peek out,...

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With Calm Repose I Ponder Earth And Sky

There in hidden den of sweet solitude,
With calm repose I ponder earth and sky.
Depths of human weakness- my attitude,
those fleeting wisps of racing Time flown by.

I hold this,...

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A long drive down the Central Valley,
cool then warm, the kind of day in March
when the season can go either way,
back to winter or ahead to spring;
a day that draws new grass up 
in unplowed...

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There is no one left for explana-tion…
They are all gone,
The violent end has come…
Revving up since realization,
Of the abstract. 

NO, 
             NO, 
...

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Up on the hill I stumbled upon
an old grave site..the tombstone
leaning toward the past.
An oak shelters it, the sunlight
filtering through its leaves
gives its crumbling surface a pleasing glow. 
I return now, again and again
to visit...

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