our time

in the comfort of home
while reading a story of American Indians,
a scene where others watched
from an open tent flap,

a brave arrived in camp
left his tired horse
then laid prone at the stream
to drink clear water

in pure air
under heat of the sun
quiet all around
ripples of the stream.

it occurred to me
that now
is not like that anymore
and we each have our time.


I have reworked this many times, although still not entirely satisfied, the point of it was important enough that it superseded an attempt at art. We each have our time.

Honey, I'm trying to keep it simple and say it how it is.

bee

What did I find, the Queen of Queens? This fat bee was large with a black rear end the size of a refrigerator light bulb, no kidding.

I see my account here doesn’t differ much from the poem, so there you have it - I’ll put a wraps on this so you can proceed to the real meat of the bee.


bee

from the porch
i see a bee
large and in the flowers
had to walk up close
to get a good look at

yellow body
a swollen back end like the hood
of a shiny old black Buick
jeeze o’pete
zip on, big buddy
zip on