Old 11-06-2016, 12:23 PM   #1
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Face Cord - bits and peices

Face Cord

Yes I have
a face cord
of poems
and am open
to offers.

Getting old,
downsizing
and I no
longer have
the space

A well seasoned lot,
neatly sorted
by category or whim.
Some dark and dense
to last through
long winter evening.
Others lighter
to keep the fire bright.
A few spiced with jive
to keep your toes moving.
And squirreled away
for those long nights when
you need extra warmth,
a handful of erotic poems.
Sometimes, they work for me,
who knows, they just might
work for you.

Yes I have
a face cord
of poems
and am open
to offers.
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Old 11-06-2016, 12:37 PM   #2
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First Frost

Venus shown bright in the morning sky
while the moon hung large
over a suddenly frozen land.
Above the blue of Easter eggs
or mosques, with an
orange tinge to the east,
still dark to the west.

Our old dog frisked
rolling in the frosty grass,
calves bounded along the fence
sheep sat contentedly
their chalked posteriors
signs of active rams.

Later we will curse the dying sun
but this morning
Venus shown bright in the morning sky
while the moon hung large
over a suddenly frozen land.
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Old 11-06-2016, 12:47 PM   #3
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Whitewater time

Adrift in a current I cannot control.
No time for excuses
but there's poetry here,
if only I can hold in
this backeddy
and jot it all down.

Already the end of October
and half the trees are bare,
The song birds are gone,
sweet tunes slipping south,
leaving only the harsh cries
of jays and crows.
In the rivers, salmon
flounder, their future
deposited in gravel banks.
Ice on the deck this morning,
I almost slipped going down
to play fetch with the dogs
and plant next year's garlic.
Soon there will be snow.

Each day grows shorter
each night longer,
and the darkness
keeps me awake.
And I look to the future
with a jumble of
anticipation and dread
for the moment when
my time flows no more.
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Old 11-09-2016, 09:38 PM   #4
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Les Demineurs

En France, les demineurs
still search the fields
removing shells,
grenades and bombs
of two World Wars.

Would that we had the same
for affairs of the human heart
to defuse munitions lurking
under a landscape of civility
Iíll forgive but cannaí forget.

A dangerous occupation
more than six hundred have died
removing millions of explosives
and each year farmers die
tilling their fields.

Weíve laid the mines of icy courtesy
to restrict crossing this no-manís land
yet your smile lights a path
through this treacherous passage
to the warmth of your embrace.

En fin, les demineurs,
ne travailent pas.
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Old 11-21-2016, 02:48 PM   #5
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leaves crunch underfoot
grey white clouds scuttle above
skeleton trees
it is the end of autumn
the windís cold but still no snow
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Old 11-21-2016, 03:14 PM   #6
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I hadn't noticed this thread before, Piscator. I'm looking forward to reading more entries. I particularly like "Face Cord," having first learned the term when I moved to Vermont more than 40 years ago: 15 bucks green from a nearby farmer but seasoned come December.
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Old 11-22-2016, 11:02 AM   #7
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Quote:
Originally Posted by greenmountaineer View Post
I hadn't noticed this thread before, Piscator. I'm looking forward to reading more entries. I particularly like "Face Cord," having first learned the term when I moved to Vermont more than 40 years ago: 15 bucks green from a nearby farmer but seasoned come December.
Thanks GM, I came up with it year's ago as the title and intro to a yet to be realized collection of my scribblings. I also have an internal debate over potential cover pages.



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Old 11-22-2016, 11:12 AM   #8
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Attack of the killer Sebelius

Sometimes music
takes you away
a few bars of Sebelius
cuts through the clutter of
school lunch preparation.
and I'm in the fiords
the soul home
I've never seen

I know little of Finland
and first met Matti
at a meeting in Dallas
where he a two day visitor
argued with the cabby
over the best way downtown.
When we arrived
he gave an excellent tour
of the corner
where JFK ended.
Later, another meeting.
this time in Wisconsin
as we shared our duty free.
he spoke of his son's summer job
folk dancing on a ferry
crossing the Gulf of Bothnia

On my run the next morning
a bald eagle passed
high overhead.

As I pack the lunches
our four year-old explains
that although Godzilla is
a boy's name, she laid eggs
that one remains buried
and do I know what
attack means?
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Old 11-27-2016, 07:56 PM   #9
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Coyote

In the pre-dawn hush
brief staccato yips
at the threshold of
my muddle aged hearing.
Downstairs the dog bays,
their calls unleashing
fragments of her feral past,
and the shivers on my back
tell me she is not alone.

The neighbors raise sheep,
last year they lost six lambs
in one night despite
their, dogs, fences
and miniature donkey.

Yet I smile knowing
they are there.
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Old 12-01-2016, 12:22 PM   #10
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Decemberpoem

Silence shrouds the land,
steel gray clouds
hang low overhead,
and the air smells of snow.
A jay, strangely silent
peers down from
newly naked branches.
To the west, geese fly
in ragtag formation
not even bothering to V.

Entering the cedars
I leash the dogs as
there a scent of skunk.
Leaving the woods
our breath hangs
just shy of steam,
while a solitary crow
flaps slowly across
the red blushed horizon.

Suspended, waiting
for winter to come.
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Old Today, 11:00 AM   #11
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Life Experiments

ďAny schoolboy can do experiments in the physics laboratory to test various scientific hypothesis.
But man, because he has only one life to live, cannot conduct experiments to test whether to follow his passion or not.Ē

Milan Kundera, The Unbearable Lightness of Being

Each week he's sits
on his bench
his mangled arm in a sling
and muzak on his radio.
I'll add a toonie to his cap
as I pass enroute
to the Farmers' Market
He'll say "God Bless"
I respond "Take care"
then continue on my way;
he greets the next passerby
and we each return to
our respective experiment.

About once a week,
the phone rings and
it's "John" on call display.
I pick it up even though I know
he will ramble for a while
then ask for the number
of my wife's sister, whom
he dated briefly, long ago.
I answer because I knew him
when he was an up and
coming med student who
introduced me to the
Fine Young Cannibals,
not a borderline psychotic
with a drinking problem.
I'll tell him that I don't
know her number
and we each return to
our respective experiment.
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