New Pathways

When the path becomes worn

And the ruts become deep

Life becomes dull

And the soul goes to sleep

That's when it's time

To strike out anew

To carve your own way

To experiences new.

 Quiet Giant

Silvery flashes among the deeper greens,
The gentle breeze is stirring
The gray-green leaves that flutter
To reveal their underside.

Mottled bark where flakes have fallen

Mark the giant Sycamore

Standing tall among the lesser trees

Which seek to crowd beneath its branches.

Long-lived ancestors saw the founders,

Furnished them homes,

Warmed the hearths,

Provided the furnishings of civilization.

Treasured for shade they line the streets

Of many small towns and villages

Where domestication contains them

And children play among their branches.

American Sycamore (Platanus occidentalis)

Valentines Day

The azaleas aren't blooming yet, but they will be in a few short weeks.  I figured flowers were appropriate for the day though, so I dug out this image from a few years back of some of the azaleas at our home.  We have them along the front and along a section of the back of our house.  They bloom in groups and are quite a sight if you enjoy such.

So, with that I will say, HAPPY VALENTINES DAY!

Roses are red,

These azaleas are pink,

I prefer poems

That make you think.

I never was good

At the mushy stuff,

To me it just seems

Like so much fluff.

It's a corporate scam

That grows by the year,

Selling roses and cards

And sparkly gear.

If you really do care

Then show them each day

In the things that you do

And the words that you say.

Dropping Your Burdens

The tiredness in my bones

Slowly drained into the dark waters

And the turmoil in my heart

Left nothing but a tinge upon the sky

As the fading light

Held me

Captive.

Release

There,

At the end of the land,

I came upon the surging waves

Incessantly striving

To crawl upon the dunes

And continue their journey

But alas,

Their energy was spent.

Turmoil

Turned to peace within

As I listened to the dim roar

Of their anguish

Which seemed to release

The tension that had built

Inside me

And I, as well, rested.

Morning Fog

The sound of droplets falling

From the heavy leaves

Breaks the silence

Of the blanketing stillness;

Enfolding,

Holding.

The quiet morning fills me

With the peace of presence

For nothing is stirring

Except the gentle dripping

All

Around.

The Bovine Disposition

The Bovine Disposition

The bovine was designed by God

To be food for those that prey

That's why his eyes are on the side

So he can see all ways.

He tends to congregate in herds

And follows without thought

The flighty actions of the ones

Who dash in fits and starts

At any sound or movement

That catches their attention.

That's why they're easily gathered

Into pens where they are caught.

They blithely go about the day

Just eating grass or hay

Or lying about and chewing their cud

Content in every way.

They have no powers of reason

So it really makes no sense

To wonder what they're thinking

Because they really can't.

It reminds me of the people

Whose voting majority

Brought into power the leaders

Of the current Administration.

Neither realized that they

Both will soon fall prey

To the predators

Who herd and feed and keep them.

The Harem

The Harem

Quality is the name of the game

For purebred cattle herds

So no expense is spared acquiring genes.

They arrive in tanks of nitrogen

In something we call straws

And delivered in a way that seems obscene.

It is the most efficent way

For improving of the herd

Because the best blood is often far away

So modern technology

Has taken the place

Of the purebred herd bulls today.

However, there are those

Among the lucky few

Who don't face humiliation in a cone

They get to roam the pasture

With the chosen of the crop;

They're like a king who sits upon a throne.

With their harem on display

They stand by the road all day

With an attitude of, "Hey, you -- look at me!"

You know it's just their job --

Passing traits on to the mob --

And it's just the way that it was meant to be!

My First Post

The intimidation of a blank page
Often leaves a writer stumped.
This bloggin' thing is new to me
And I guess I'm pretty pumped!
The words just seem to jump right out;
I know they make no sense.
My purpose with this little rhyme
Is just to get off the fence!