Fertilize the soil,
its microbes, and not the plants,
and your garden grows!
Fertilize the soil,
its microbes, and not the plants,
and your garden grows!
My mother was a witch, she’d say,
catching me at play with her behind eyes
at a breakfast feast for one.
“Which witch?” would I reply.
Red shoes or none, Dorothy’s Done,
and run with the sun.
It rained the night my mother died.
’twas well Heaven cried.
(revised October 8 & 9, 2013, from rewrites and edits of 2005, 2001 and July 7, 1995).
Copyright (c) 2015 by J Kirk Richards
Sweet potato vines
racing the failing Fall sun,
yield lavender blooms.
Soon their fruit will grace tables
and special dessert receipts!
equal parts rum,
OJ and pineapple juice!
The rest is secret.
I found my lost weight
and it wants to come back home.
Tell it to bring beer!
Ten-mile sunrise walk
just to stay in shape for work:
pay me to woods-walk!
Waiting for the rain
with my soap and cloth in hand.
Do laundry as well?