Red Ball Hannah wept silently into her dusty apron. She spun her thin face around, much like a donut, awaiting its freckling of powdered sugar. Tears cast their agonies upon hand-stitched hydrangeas, petunias, and magnolias while honeybees clung close with their bulging pollen-laden legs. Ruth had spent six months embroidering this apron for her and…
Category: Farmers
My new poem “Picnic and a Crow,” live on masticadores india
in the glee of a sapphire sky, the sun plays leapfrog with a cloudcake chinwags to cheese falling off the family’s tattered picnic tablelanding by hungry carpenter ants grateful to be done building a stable boys swerving on a swing sitting sideways long ago nailed to an oakwrestling, like a couple of bulls, a raven…
My new poem live on The Edge of Humanity “High price”
Arising from the loamy soil and red clay emits the realm of cotton and tobacco. Their breaths are a land of drudgery where drops of scarlet seep from hands that pick the whites of her thorny eyes. Growing in fields of lost magnolias and gardenias adrift, where scentless trees play jazz for fairies and whippoorwills. …
Blood Petunias
coming from the land of the drunken sunwhere he ended and I barely dare becomeshe was a crow that brought us all togetherrum drizzling, thunderbolt winter weatherrioting lot she was afflicting all kinds of harmliving on those four acres of our teeny farmbleeding red petunias into fine white sandthriving while growing things on fertile landforgiveness…
Sunday’s Hay Field
sadness is a raw wound wrapped in bandagesliving in the thought of a picnic without dancing antsa family carrying a basket with lost Sundays and sandwiches listening to the radio, pretending to dancebitter the old man who can no longer stand to eat corntoothless, he remembers the river swallowing a closing glance his son,…
Blue-Green Algae
A patch of dandelions sway with rhythm down by the murky old pondFor the north wind blows breezes of olden days and mysteries bornTheir long thin necks hold round cottony seeds for new life to spawnLike endless weeping willows wailing to the fish telling tales of scorn Those catfish hunters don’t come around anymore in…
Scorched Earth
Drifting in and out through the crying blackened bushRestricting airflow from seeking lung cells that pushTowards pockets of coolness and a nontoxic timeTo a land where the killing of nature is a real crimeWhere bullets and hatred don’t govern the dayAnd children with asthma come out safely to play An environment where oodles of patents…
BALANCE
An abandoned finch nest, now lay silent and empty, once fashioned with love for three peeping chicks. Red and yellow leaves are seen winking, swinging, as they dangle precariously from the old oak trees. Squirrels stockpiling acorns in their wintery holes, and less buzzing of bees while the bats enter torpor. Stripped are the bottom…
