the Northern Wallflower

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The day after yesterday…

the lilacs were gone.

Then the iris.

One by one, they were, also,  all departed.

All, but the northern wallflowers…that is.

Never do the gods account for the ever so green…up on the ridge.

This is where the grassy knolls have always replenished me.

I come here daily to see what it is you see.

No, you are not just a simple plot of trees.

What has been, seen daily, yearly, at your limbs hand?

The growth so measurable…

Yet, your roots have begun a different kind of land.

 ∞

In deepest sincerity,

my strength has atrophied.

But my vigor…as I watch your vastness…

I admit…is thought of differently.

In freshened mind, as you have portrayed…

I cannot walk this walk…only to return to my cave.

Though in beckoning winds I may…become altered.

A small resolution should not be what I am after.

 ∞

Came fall, ever green will turn to rust.

Came winter, your poignancy will become a changeling, yet, robust.

Sheltering all who follow you.

Giving the time to renew.

 

 

 

 

Fife Farm

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The clover is invincible…

The green gold grass…waist high.

Stocks of infant corn stand in allegiance…out of the corner of my eye.

And, that is all I need to know today.

That is all I need to know.

Where Are My Pink Canada Mints?!

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I have literally spent the last two weeks searching for two things:

A mouse pad! That’s right…a simple, useful, device for the desk!

And,

Pink Canada Mints for when I get parched!
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Not too far down the road from this the smallest, big city in New Hampshire is, Revere, Massachusetts.  A lovely high crime city.  It is mostly known as a burial ground for the Southies of Boston.

Side note:  I once spent a night in a mortuary…in a coffin…in Revere.  But that is another story for another time.

Long story short, the Necco company thought it would be cheaper to just close down…instead of removing the ‘scat’ and rodents…discovered within the machines.

So now WE have no more candy hearts, Necco Wafers, Mary Janes and Pink Canada Mints.

How hard is it for some sugar company to pick up the ball and run…with this one?

The loosing of the Malted Milk Balls did not phase me that much.  Though, I do enjoy chocolate Necco Wafers.

But WTF!

Because of my internal hysteria…I have up’d my meds.  So much so that I delusional-ly envisioned my desk with:

  • a boombox
  • cassette tape of ABBA’s greatest hits

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    Roach clip. Metal clip or holder used to hold a marijuana joint, to prevent burning of the fingers.
  • a roach clip with feathers dangling off

and…

  • a jug of Maddog 20/20

In the Cold Winter’s Night

Autumn spurns ice cream.

Had the tire tracks been just a dream.

Scratching with  four paws at the door.

They say, bad things happen to good people.

But I say, wicked is wicked.

Like candy from a candy store…there will always be more.

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The signs are still all around in this beat up town.

Rugged is the night, well soiled beaten boots, lonely and homeless…

ten speed bikers abound.

I had not known you but your death lingers in traces of waterfalls and fractured mills.

With innocence of voice could your youth ever be found?

I too get lost from time to time.

Woods shadow my heart…disfigure my mind.

Muddied snowfall calls from a vagrant timber.

Beneath a land of lost souls…I am not always sound.

 

 

Chilled Tears

 

In the chill of spring rains…

Comes the ridicule.

A flurry of inquiries sounding off to tone-deaf songs.

Moistened mists whose embrace feels lonely and wrong.

Chilled April tears aware of all the ways to be wicked.

Rapidly descending lullaby’s of walks that will never be.

Addled salutations awash in April rains…

And,

a chorus of her dramatic melodies.