There are trucks on this road,
lots and lots of trucks,
truck after truck on this road
and they all are filled with stuff
like food, machines, and soda pop
and mail and bales and things to shop.
And here we are between it all,
it’s like we’re at a mall or store.
Except when it’s here on the road,
we’d never ask for more.
Progress
Some progress seems to happen by
just keeping up with time.
Some progress must be built from wreckage
time has left behind.
The Hills Are Alive
The hills are alive
with grass to my knees
and bugs and alfalfa––
all music to me!
Prose
Put a tune in your head while you’re writing
and you’ll end up writing a poem.
So if it is prose that you’re after,
just leave all that music alone.
Except Rest
I always have something to do,
but I’m not as busy as you.
So if you need someone to help,
I gladly would offer myself,
although you seem to do it all best
when you do it yourself (except rest).
Flowering Tree
I’d like to be
a flowering tree
with toes in the water
and hair in the breeze,
as strong as an oak
and as light as a feather,
except I want to bloom
through each season’s weather.
Chartreuse
Justice, now I know why you chose chartreuse.
It seemed an ugly color; now I know the truth.
It comes out of the trees
before it turns to dark green leaves.
It’s the color of spring, the color of new.