Come! Go with me this Autumn

To where the hills light up the sky

With their burgundies dipped into purple mists

As drops of sun light on flightless leaves

Blend into fields of golden pumpkins strewn about.

With apples, as crisp as wafers of ice,

And air so clear and velvety light,

You will think it really isn’t there.

We’ll have corn on the cob at dusk

With apple cider, biscuits, ham and eggs,

And those buttermilk pancakes

Smothered with country butter

And fresh maple syrup,

Because, you see, Autumn is a time to enjoy

All the best there is, or ever was.

And since it is also Indian Summer,

We will go for a swim in that old millpond.

 

 

 

Stop the machines now.

We must be heard.  Now!

You have claimed our best:

The young ones, their dreams;

Old ones, broken with grief;

Loved ones, long since lost.

Our smallest cry out

For the food to sustain.

Where are the healing arts

For those in the throes of death,

Breathing air you spoiled,

Drinking waters poisoned by you,

Eating food grown in ground

So tainted it grows only death?

Must we all slowly die

With starvation of the body,

The mind and even the soul

To keep the machines alive?

Stop! the machines now!

Is no one humane in charge?

We can no longer be grist alone.

How long until we refuse?

Why are your needs so great

That we must die just reaching for love,

While you give not one single sign

Or one single drop to show you care?

Will your machines still roar

If we are not there?

Devour us if you will, machines.

We will be gone yet free.

Of course, we will all be dead.

But how will the machines run then?

Who would you operate for?

Come, all my fellow workmen.

Listen well, you machine masters.

Come feed our hungry,

Clothe the naked,

Heal the sickened ones,

Provide for those starved

For some token of love,

Share gracefully in humility.

Stop these machines now.

Stop, stop, stop, stop.

Sometimes I feel I must write poetry,

Sing of something I know or want to know.

I’m never sure of what drives as I write

Gibberish, at least some, it seems to me.

Yet, when I happen to express something well,

My heart expands in joy at the words I see.

To be able to write so it affects

The heart, the soul or the mind.

That’s a goal I set for myself.

If I can reach that goal, I will feel

As if my life has been successful.

One subject for poems: love between people,

Not just lovers (men and women); I loved my Mom

So much that just thinking of her

Made me feel really good.

My Dad?  Well, he was so rough and hard.

I admitted even to myself, that I loved him, also.

My brothers?  I guess so, and

My four sisters, a little easier

To say I loved them and even their kids.

I probably loved a few of my friends, too.

At least the ones to whom I told some secrets.

If any of this constitutes a poem,

I hope you like it well enough to save.

 

 

I walked through the only street in town

Looking into every face I chanced to meet,

Hoping I might find a familiar one.

I dropped into the only general store;

Enjoyed that piece of homemade of fudge.

The old wooden church hung a sign saying

The next services would be in two weeks.

I never found the two-room school.

I hiked out toward Old Gobber’s Knob

To find the patch at the top–a scar–

The hill was stripped, barren of trees.

A local, seeing my distressed face, informed

That the local lumber company promised to replant.

I wondered, would they also restore

Those violets I loved so much

And the wild rose by the small spring?

Will there be butterflies, songbirds

And daffodils to greet the early spring?

Perhaps daisies, bluebells and Indian pinks

Will somehow reappear to adorn the hill.

Sadly, I turned away a tear rolled down.

 

When you have lost someone you truly love

How do you pick up the pieces of your life,

Handle the misery of being alone at night?

What do you do with a heart that won’t heal?

Where do you go to hide your terrible grief?

When will the hurt subside just a little?

What do you do with all those mementos?

Where do you keep them so that

They don’t reopen all those wounds?

Is it ever possible to actually forget?

Could you just reach inside your heart and

Tear out those endless memories of love?

Can you? I am asking for help from everywhere

Yet at night, and some times during the day,

The ache seems never to diminish at all.

Why couldn’t we have gone out together?

Will it always cut this deeply in my heart?

I am glad I have these long nights

When I can be alone to communicate

With my heart’s memories of her.