Poetry: From a Homesteader’s Journal

Bluff Country Morning

It takes a while longer

For sun to scale the bluffs

And burn off night’s drifting mist

In my corner of the world.

And so, the scene stays soft

Like a lingering dream

For a few moments more

While I ease into wakefulness.

While the sky glows pale yellow,

Then pink, then orange

I anticipate the sun’s hallelujah –

Its brilliance above the tree line

And I think maybe all new things

Should arrive so gently,

Announcing themselves with time

For sleepy souls to stir.

Beehives

Around the county and into Iowa

The beekeeper tends to his high-rise hives.

A red truck appears rumbling down our gravel road

And he goes to work.

He is at least a third-generation apiarist

And these hives have been in place

Right where they stand, Since World War II.

The honey is good.

After he leaves, the bees may be miffed

And sometimes they vent their anger,

Chasing us inside with their peevish attacks.

They settle down soon.

Mostly they mind their own business

Making the fruit trees and vegetables produce,

Beautiful in their industry, singular in their purpose.

Peaceful as the dawn.

Kudos to all who tend the bees

Who care for those life-giving dynamos,

Who gather pure honey, one of man’s oldest foods –

And package the ambrosia in bottles.

Hide and Seek

Summer has called the game

And I am “It”

Seeking perfect specimens

Of green bean and bell pepper

The first ripe tomato

And cucumbers, small and crisp.

Blossoms make promises

And vegetables silently

Soak up the sun.

They stealthily grow 

And crouch under leaves

While I call, “One, two, three,

Ready or not, Here I come!”

Sometimes I find them

And they enter my basket

Tagging along in the search for more.

The best hiders

Will soon be large and seedy,

Bloated, diluted, subprime.

They win… 

But their reward is only a trip to the compost pile.