About 40 years ago I lived on an 80 acre farm in Door County, Wisconsin. It was the only time in my life that I wrote poetry. At least, the only time that I wrote poetry almost all the time. When I wrote at all. Milking goats and weeding gardens take up a lot of time.
It was a beautiful time and, as I worked around the farm, bits and pieces of poems came to me. When I was lucky, I would remember them later and write them down. Some were inspired by the land, some by friends, some by family. A few expressed unfulfilled longings of my own.
They have bits of Wisconsin summers, rain, and journeys yet to be taken. This page will feature other poets, for the most part, since I do not have a large body of work. But every once in a while I’ll slip something of mine in.
Like this one:
Grass Grown
This rascally grass
Tickles my ankles
Out in the orchard
It grazes my ass and
Back near the woods the
Quack grass and clovers
Meet over my head
Brushing me off.
Profusions of wild dusty
Lilacy asters
Have drowned the petunias in
Grass grown beds.
I’ll have to wait for winter to pretend again
I am the master of the grasses.