Memories of Sutton

A hundred year oak…now with faded auburn leaves.

Centuries of stone fences with homes long since gone.

The dogs unencumbered, free to explore a land unknown.

But still a muddied swimming hole is where they decided to roam.

We dodge dropping acorns from dismayed animals up above.

Deep in a forest untraveled,

I am reminded of that strawberry blonde child, sunfish and September early morning, in the plump sun.

Minding Mushrooms

The fight remains in the hand tossed rubble and rubbish.

Hope…in the ache that wakes.

Not paradise up close and focus tight.

But by innate tapestry under the sun’s light.

No treading a path beyond fine.

The superfluous for the mind.

Signs of the Father

My Father used to say, peace be with you…

But it never was.

Holding a stark bare cross above the bedroom door…

I had been taught ‘this is love.’

Father would shake my hand until life caught hold

Eventually, in obsession, he became less bold.

My Father had sent me to deviant schools.

I had been taught of prejudice, good books, how to look for fools.

Nothing More…Nothing Less

Nothing more whimsical than wild turkey’s in the evergreens

A dog’s stubby knees

Frisky felines pretending to be sweet

Heifer’s that refuse to take a seat