Accommodations Would it kill 'em to put up some sort of flimsy Oasis or at least a decent Mirage? . . . j
Accommodations
Dermis
Dermis Not understanding the mechanics of a boy's mind, Mother often said, “Beauty is only skin deep,” A hypothesis far too wide For me, with eyes, and whirling imagination to leap. She meant well, of course, hoping a sweet and sensible daughter-in-law to reap. Mother placed her faith in character and upbringing over female design and shape to keep. But, oh, Mother dear, forgive the lovely visions that kept me tossing and turning in my sleep. . . . j from the Senses and More Such collection
Intruder
Intruder I had just gone downstairs to put the morning kettle on, when much to my astonishment, I discovered the neighbor lady had let herself in, and demanded we share a morning dance, a tale told best by a blushing wind rattling the falling leaves. . . . j
Brotherhood
Brotherhood He who can design and build an elegant staircase is just as much the artist as he who can draw and paint an elegant staircase. . . . j from the Senses and More Such collection
Red-tailed Rescue
Red-tailed Rescue It's difficult to be certain from this angle, but it appears our young lady is reading from "Red-tailed Rescue," a novel of a unique friendship between a young South Dakota girl, Kate Flannery, and a brave red-tailed hawk named Orville written by the obscure American author and pretend poet, John Irby.
Hunter and Gatherer
Hunter and Gatherer
Beware the enemy’s sharp thorn
Guarding the sweetness newly born
In league with time and shade.
Fill the coffee can one by one,
Until the job is properly done—
Pie crust freshly made.
. . . j
from the Senses and More Such collection
The Meeting Place
The Meeting Place If you miss me when I am gone, don’t seek my face among the clouds, probe the wind to catch my voice, or visit a cemetery to sit the marker. Just read something I’ve written. You’ll find me there. . . . j from the Senses and More Such collection
The Tipping Point
The Tipping Point Sooner or later, Things what they are, No matter how healthy you are; How crisp your mind; How confident you be, The tipping point arrives, A place of apprehension, Of uncertainty, Of no going back. Sooner or later, Things what they are, Sight declines to dim, Sounds muddy to faint, Balance wobbles to uncertain, A place of apprehension, Of uncertainty, Of no going back. Sooner or later, Things what they are, Memories melt away, Vocabulary dwindles, Friendships lose touch, A place of apprehension, Of uncertainty, Of no going back. Sooner or later, Things what they are. Muscles disappear, Weight dissolves, Doctoring too frequent, A place of apprehension, Of uncertainty, Of no going back. Sooner or later, Things what they are, No matter how healthy you are; How crisp your mind; How confident you be, The tipping point arrives. . . . j from the Senses and More Such collection
Let The Chips Fall Where They Will
Let The Chips Fall Where They Will Writing poetry is like taking a sharp knife and chisel to a block of humble wood, that represents your life, your experiences, your emotions, your memories and peeling it back to resemble something of beauty and substance. Shavings cast aside, unimportant, forgotten. Revealment? Stark truth. . . . j from the Senses and More Such collection
Ode To A Sister
Ode To A Sister We knew who we were, All those years ago, Ragamuffin children, Growing up as best We could. Got along some, Disagreed some, Fought some. We knew who we were, All those years ago. Sheltered up together, Learned in the same schools, Ate off the same crockery. We knew who we were, All those years ago. How many birthdays Have now flown by? Doesn’t matter at all, Does it? How far the moon? The stars? Or eternity? Doesn’t matter at all, Does it? We knew who we were, All those years ago, Ragamuffin children Finding our way, As best we could. Covid has passed us by, Likewise, the measles, mumps and chickenpox. Doesn’t matter at all, Does it? We knew who we were, All those years ago. . . . j from the Senses and More Such collection
