helpers

the birds help with a poem.
they are the live souls.
sure plants are living,
but don't hop on my fence,
can't practically dance.
then let me give a salute to plants
that can be seen growing
day by day
and become flowers
bursting into joyful color
or produce fruit and vegetables
that need only salt or oil
to sure taste good,
provide nutrition;
their down side is
they never tweet.

workin' devices

have seen them for years now,
lined up anywhere,
heads down.
won't look around,
in a hurry,  no apparent worry.
yet somehow concerns are involved.
seem well fed and dressed.
hair is cut to style.
rapid improvises, 
completely dissolved
into their devices.

spring soon

2019 the news grim.
Notre Dame burned.

we drove for breakfast at our favorite place,
looking around for damage. we knew
a portion of the town Shelby two days before
suffered a hit by a tornado.
the restaurant remains unscathed.
later, on the way to the market in Shilo
sheets of roofing metal were strewn across fields,
we passed near a large crumpled metal piece of roofing,
another lie in a field a quarter mile away.
barns had been torn in half while half remained unharmed.
trees are dropped sporadically in wooded areas,
a root ball lies exposed as if plucked from the ground,
with the large trunk lying on its side.
on the way to the Panktown market
we had to divert several times,
half the roads were closed for repair.
in 6 days Spring begins.
hopefully the storms are over.

Flyin'

sleepin' deep
in a hurry tonight,
time is running
8 something to 5 we've marked off.
mornin' take off,
rollin' before dawn.

this is las vegas.
a blanket of silence
would you think...
streets empty
far as i can see ...

all the way up and all the way down.
at this hour ...
plenty folks.
in line, nodded good morning,
behind her eyes shown an understanding, a warmth.


saw baseball hat
with a large red t.
stood for: The

flew all day,
got home.