POEM: Harvest on the Farm [Ottava Rima]

My memories of autumn are clearest —
the harvest time, when fields had turned amber,
with desiccated stalks – devoid of spirits.
And in the grain, we children would clamber,
’cause cleaning out wagons was time cherished.
Those short days are now brighter and grander.
It was an age of colossal machines,
and kernels of corn and tiny soybeans.

POEMS: Dreary Day Haiku

IMG_2123Clouds chugged landward
Smothering a festive town
In a dense, gray cloak

 

Dreary days have come
Reminding me of Britain,
the long nightless nights

 

Drizzle piddles down
Dimpling the sidewalk sheen
With random ripples