The Earth Scents Me

My fingers work the soil in myriad ways,
sometimes with tools like hoe or shovel;
When I get into the yard on nice April days,
begin to prep dirt canvas without any trouble.

As I mine the compost pile rich scents awaken my senses,
inspiring efforts to amend bare earth with the rich loam;
Once the soil has been worked, planting commences,
Fresh flowers and vegetables will grace my home.

That early joy of planting genesis of future treasure,
fades when the weeds start to grow, little by little;
Persistence of thinning them out is a good measure
of a true gardeners' determination and mettle.

The delightful treat of new colors, smells and tastes
remind one that persistent effort has not gone to waste.

-end

Sign on my Forehead

Sign on my Forehead





I am not an international terrorist,
Nor baby-snatcher nor serial rapist;
The only thing I molest is my shopping list,
Only one (verbally) abused might be my therapist...

No visions of grand larceny crowd my brain,
No drug deals loom within my domain;
A quart of Old Milwaukee my only refrain,
Employed and keeping self clean, is that insane?

Though I am an older single male,
who likes to sight-see alone,
walk or ride over hill and dale,
visiting area spots close to home.

So please grant me a sequestration,
please cut me some mental slack;
I feel your suspicions as I field your questions,
you are not, but I feel like I am, under attack.

Media have sold me on the appeal
of many area gardens, lakes and trails;
Although I visit these with zeal
Do not run me out of town “on a rail.”

Thank you very much.

-end