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The Jockey
In a square inch of soil we were told you will find all the history pertinent to your time and all you need to know in this world concerning all you need to know. We laughed at the old Teacher and labeled him The Jockey because he was on our backs all the time. We…
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The Memory Makers
The Memory Makers The smell of the damp morning kindled memories of earth mold, as she fetched the wood and stirred the fire anew. Warmth crept into the chill room as ghosts of Springs past kept watch and in unison nodded approval to make waves on the still-born ethers. The children slept; their various ages…
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Come To My Table
This poem was written a year ago and was received with such warmth. Much has happened in the past year to all of us. Memories rise unbidden sometimes, but needing affirmation. So we affirm them and ourselves; along with the memories welcome and again. . . . . . Come To My Table…
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We Lift Our Heads
We Lift Our Heads We lift our heads as we face our Source. We give thanks for these gifts beginning our day; a body without pain and a mind clear and receptive; a heart that beats steadily and ears that hear clearly. For these gifts we are grateful. Open us and allow…
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C’est Moi, It is I. . . .
The underlying factor in these universes is that there is an ethically divine purpose to do good. We have to because we are born to. Which is why we clean our doorstep and sweep our sidewalks. Even if those sidewalks are dirt. Why we wash our clothes and wash our bodies, even if the wash…
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We Are Farmers
These barns are good. . . . good for carrying on important business, good for storing things, good for being the fragrant strongbox of our memories. . . . places where we played, growing up forever. Tresy (Our first born son, whom we call Tresy, has given me permission to reprint…
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Winner of The Last Bird Sings
It is nearing midnight and I am going to announce the winner of The Last Bird Sings. To accommodate my readers from across the waters and those who work nights, the winner is Laura Libby Jones. I will be contacting her for essential information and the book will be on its way. I want to…
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Excerpt From The Last Bird Sings
Felix is the Elder, the mentor and Marshall is his student, needing Felix to teach him what Marshall needs to know. They are out in the field with the huge machine, lovingly dubbed by the Brothers as The Hemingway. It is hot and Marshall is fidgeting. “Why do you say that evening can…
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Book Drawing
The Last Bird Sings is a story within a story and the form is much loved in European Literature. It contains excerpts of my life along with my understanding of these events in the long scope of my life; how they have shaped me into who it is I am. How and why I view…
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The Night Sounds
Not quite 50 when I wrote the following one Saturday night in a September journal entry. The window is open where I sit and it is black outdoors. The dampness is coming in and I am almost transported to my youth and it is once again life on The Farm. The crickets are making…