fortunate we are
to live in rural surrounds
no pollution here

as day came to end
a thin pencil line of light
was seen in the west

before the hail storm
a sound akin to a train
roared in the air

a luminous moon
glimmered on the river
as the owls hooted

as the stars came out
a flight of ibises landed
in the local park

spring's vivid colors
lay in winter's white cocoon
waiting to burst forth

in the black mat sky
a full lunar orb doth drift
over the island

clouds remain most sparse
there are no rain drops falling
farmers in despair

sudden bursts of wind
skirled through the open field
as late eve drew near

resplendent the dawn
painted by a sunlit daub
a picture so grand

a note of true love
twas twittered by a finch
in the orchard grove

to the west of here
promising clouds are forming
they'll gift needed rain

the sun reclines
another dawning has past
day is drawing down

several Mack trucks
thundered up the main drag
of our quiet township

movement hath halted
the system manager sleeps
he's not at his post

off in the distance
the frail sounds of minor birds
drifted through the scrub

in a few minutes
my second load of washing
will be pegged out

night's cloak of darkness
lifts to display the daylight
nature's own drama

he so delighted
in exploring her garden's
bloom of loveliness

by an azure shore
lives the man I adore
he's in my heart's core

a smoke haze lingers
in our part of the countryside
blurring the hillsides

mining companies
dig holes in the landscape
they scar it's beauty

as the wind currents
are changing they indicate
a seasonal change

with great intensity
the furious flames did sweep
across the countryside

he can't sleep at night
the phantoms ever appear
which haunt his slumber

an athletic ape
asked an aging aardvark
about arthritis

blueness into blueness
the true whiteness of the foam
a curling sea wave

spring's gorgeous colors
shall burst forth from their buds
into a gala show

a light mist tarried
o'er the slow moving river
on that autumn morn

clouds of much despair
hang over the farmer's minds
as rain hasn't fallen

morning mist kissed
the freshly sprung shoots on the
ghost grey silver gums

clouds are gathering
along the western ridges
promising some rain

pin holes of light
high in the celestial plains
flicker glints so bright

summer's long dry spell
eroded the landholders
chances of a crop

as rain hasn't fallen
the landscape now resembles
dried out biscuits

a sprinkling of clouds
have appeared in the sky
we hope they yield rain

in the good old days
people's lives were simpler
oh for their return

clouds of much promise
linger over the district
could they mean good rain

a flight of cranes
landed at the river's edge
to forage for clams

dark magenta hues
hung above the eastern hills
on that August eve

we'll light up fellas
so we can puff like steam trains
then we'll choke on smoke

once I had
copper brown hair
it was a color
I so liked to wear

at the age
of thirty eight
the hair color turned
to a grey slate

the silver threads
are in the majority
the brown strands
have been placed in the minority

I dyed my hair
a few times
to bring back those
pre-thirties  times

at the fifty plus age
my hair has turned
to a white page

the follicles have
little color pigmentation
which is a cause
for much consternation

it is in
my genetic code
that by the time
I'm seventy five
my hair will be thinner
than a gauge cloth
and I wont be able to wear my tresses
in an afro style or beehive

Blinkers of deception blocked all view
Which gave an impression verily askew
Much like a tunnel with direct vision
The peripheral objects not sighted
This be how the eye is well blighted
The optic ***** is so oft mislead
By those carrying a fraudulent masthead
We've been trapped in their shadow's vision
Unmasking them is a revelation
A clear picture of misinterpretation
Ne'er be tricked in a straight light byway
For there's always dark tones lingering
Which don't exhibit that they're loitering
Be not a mole in a blinded hallway