the bachelors are back
their stems held strong and true
though once removed
their blue faces shine again –
you can’t keep a good man down
JDG
Today I was told I’d have to leave my beloved office because they were going to create a much larger office space which would incorporate mine. I take heart from these bachelor buttons that line the road on my way from home to work and back again.
Practice
might make perfect
but perfection’s not what
I seek. I want help in getting
back home.
~~~
Tuesdays
are like gawky
pre-teens – outgrown Mondays
but not ready for midweek or
week’s end.
JDG
I wish I could stop
bellyaching, but belly’s
aching and I’m not
sure why – it seems I’m having
trouble stomaching something
~~
just wondering why
it was not I who came in first
and hit the jackpot
though I did once a long time
ago when I first met you
JDG
as I wrote I felt
a gentle nudge to change my
focus from there to
here – some serious purring
was about to begin and
my presence was requested
JDG
if I let myself
feel their grief, perhaps I could
better hear their
grievances and we could meet
on ground hallowed by our tears
~~~
Ockham’s razor cuts
both ways. Our economy
is based on finding
complex answers to problems
best solved by the golden rule
JDG
was it a relay
race they were practicing for –
an elemental
game – where first rain and then sun
took the field and ran
~~~
~~~
watching wind ripple
through low-growing fields of green
loosens something tight
in me, helps me slip care’s knot
and, for a moment, soar free
JDG
Morning: work bound, I drive through
soft summer rain.
Overhead, the pale
sky slowly shifts,
and on the ground a wispy haze
settles here and
there. I move slow
and easy down
the winding country road cradled,
for a time, in
understated,
grey gentleness.
JDG
They’re tunin’ up down at the pond.
With all that strummin’ and hummin’ and stuff,
This serenade could last til dawn.
They break for winter, but summer’s tough.
~
With all that strummin’ and hummin’ and stuff,
They might keep me from sawin’ logs.
They break for winter, but summer’s tough.
If it’s not the crickets, it’s them frogs.
~
They might keep me from sawin’ logs.
This serenade could last til dawn.
If it’s not the crickets, it’s them frogs.
They’re tunin’ up down at the pond.
JDG
I just want to want
what I want when I want it –
what can be wrong with that?
At least I’m alive and clear,
as I was when I was two
****
My inner roommate
chimes in with streams of advice:
accept what you have,
make the most and best of it –
I suggest she move out
What the wind brings, it can sweep away.
Those leaves settled
only briefly
before they were
gathered up and carried off.
The limbs still lay
where they were felled.
Will I be limb,
or trunk, or leaves when wind sweeps through,
as it has before,
leaving me shaken
and forlorn?
JDG
