Greener Pasture


Cherish moments such as,


when life gathers around toiling feet.

With splinters embedded beneath the nail.

While hay lay stacked…

bale upon bale.

Even as evening’s storms remain a plight.

Alas, no chivalry in what the season’s create.

No precision to articulated measure in the artisan’s fight or flight.

A labor to our demise…

to believe other,

would be unwise.

Still a righteous harvest is ours by design.

To gather one true passion

a fodder to the mind.


Labors of Love


Sometimes…a good run from a far away time.

Yet, those were remote lands in a yesterday rhyme.

Moments in what seemed the last of the sunshine.

Pensive walks are the current trend.

Lying in wait…for games of pretend.

Looming behind rock garden walls…with imaginary friends.

My father once told me…

“Eat from the single wild berry.

Collect a few friends…not too many.”

Course…he is a violent man

and…one never knew for certain…

his motives or stance.

Seems I will be running forever…whether with speed…

pitfalls of heed

or severed needs.

running 2 running 3