folded mountain

a beer from Rochester, New York is what i'm talking about here.
first time i heard of it.
the beer. i heard of Rochester.
the beer is called folded mountain.
not surprised. they had to come up with a name for the beer...could have been happy mountain.
5.8 percent alcohol.  got that?
okay, so, it's a hot day.
went to the porch.
sat in the shade.
sipped in the shade. ole'
drank my beer...most of it.
wanted a smoke,
thought of it; it's been a month.
so give me a break.
oh, i'll get over it...again.

space

postal worker
drove by today.
leaving nothing.
thus creating
space.

go warm Sunday
who turned up the heat?

turn to good weather

sunshine roars in,

working on golden sweet corn,

also readying, heavy, juicy water melons.

you know the kind.

 then on a twelve hour from Boston drive,

hug hi niece, hello eat next day go,

she's three more hours to Indiana.

 while here awhile, all kept rolling.

hiya summertime some, been watching for you, and enjoy what a season, thankful for all we are. 

chill dawn

chill dawn
on the road to shiloh.
a violet, rose haze,
with blue on edges of far fields.

1844 carved on the stone house on a rise.
other old homes
blanketed in vinyl.
all barns red, newly covered in looks like tin.

there's no balloon on earth
like the fiery red sun
rising in all her glory,
marking the start of new day


...
This last set of four lines I wrote so long ago.  I can't locate the original text, and I see there is a problem...I want to get it right. now the "marking the start of new day" has the meter.

growing corn

you drive along

then park in the lot by the fence;

so you can get out and walk the field

feel the heat doing a burn

it's how you learn

what a sunny day feels like doing a job

right now on the cob.

waving in the wind, getting tall.

the corn is coming up i see,

now you can bet there'll be an ear for me,

i'm getting ready, going home,

fetch butter and salt...that's all i need.

what summer's all about.