Poetry My Craft

Our Summertime Travel

We scurry across the avenues Sometimes we ride on ocean cruises We sing at festivals Ruining our hearing with high decibels Anything to escape reality choices Our spirit and body rejoices! The natural and manmade spectacles Our summertime travel. From Iceland to Zimbabwe oohs We delight in discovering new hues Our pictures and mementos release chemicals To remind of us of the sights, wonders, and smells! On the projector screen we peruse Our summertime travel.…

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Poetry My Craft

Be a Maker, Not a Taker

Some shout no to corporate welfare And spit on those who say otherwise. Tax loopholes seem unfair, To those who minimize Their day-to-day and scrutinize The monthly budget. The craftsmen yowl this advice, Be a Maker, Not a Taker. An artisan lists out what’s true and fair; A list of various jobs and supplies. To complete his family’s share Of fruited endeavors reprise. The labor like clockwork unifies The sons and daughters sextet. The craftsmen…

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Poetry My Craft

The Gardener Longs for Spring

The gossip fails to interest him, Real housewives provide no whim, The endless chatter from the box, Never topping spring equinox. Transplanting flowers from the seed, Small, pale, helpless leaves proceed No April Showers, so May balks Never topping spring equinox. Finally, water pours over plant, The pail neck leaks but a scant, Of moisture fallen from shamrocks, Never topping spring equinox. Summer now, the garden delights, Hummingbirds dab on nectar flights, Still, he misses…

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Poetry My Craft

He Sees the Love in Her Warm Smiling Face

Riding behind in a long red wagon, He sits, he smiles, plays with the air, he watches Her ponytail bobbing in rhythm as she pulls The red wagon up the road in the pines   They stop at a library, he toddles up Children’s books about bunnies and ducks He giggles and claps at the animal Pictures while struggling to understand her; He sees the love in her warm smiling face   She’s older now,…

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Poetry My Craft My Favorites

Twilight Settled Around the Texas Spoon

I’ve got a tiger by the tail Its plain to see came a Buck Owens wail From the jukebox hidden near the bar In a West Texas dance hall far Away on a farm-to-market road Near a cotton bale load Hammer man tuned the piano, sunlight gave way to moon Barmaid dried the glasses, as twilight settled around the Texas Spoon A Post cowboy and a Hale Center mill man Rushed inside to find a…

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