Mr. Hopsons polished , placid pond surrounded by dark green July corn , teeming with mud and flathead catfish , dairy cattle call on clear blue , bucolic afternoons .. Black tadpoles crowd her tall vegetative shore , hoof prints riddle lonesome trails , killdeer chirp atop Elizabeth rose fence lines , paddocks come alive with abundant , fragrant wildflowers of every shape , color and size ..
Beagles cry for their midday meal , songbirds vivaciously work the white barn homestead , Rhode Island Reds gather for Noon feast , Embden Geese patrol East seeking the blacktop , waddle noisily along the gravel drive , forever curious , even a touch boisterous and foolhardy from time to time ..
Charolais bulls command the molasses lick , working salt blocks , lay
without fear beneath tin topped field shelters ..

Soon the Dogwoods will bloom, and
bring one last gasp;
A eulogy for winter-
a final little bit of cold remembrance
for our unwashed faces.

Summer is for a different song. Brand new wrongs,
slick fingers and
a sunnier side of sin. The good kind.
Twixt those sweaty inner thighs
hides a secret worth savoring; a secret worth harboring.
Salvation is warm and...
I digress.

In the interim lies spring,
when we debate the merits of
crucifixion and/or fertility.
Around here, crucifixion wins since
we love a good ******
more than a good ****.
Who am I to argue?

So we wait for
something different.
Breath bated -
anxiously anticipating change
with a hitch in our collective chest.

That change will come but
not before the blackberries have had their say.

Sometimes my silent screams
Drown the white noise.
Sometimes my shattered smile
Comforts their fickle tears.
Sometimes I wrap your hand in mine
And feel the love unspoken.
Sometimes words are not enough.
Sometimes words cannot be found.
Sometimes ....

I have read so many wonderful poems,
haiku's, 10 words, so many more, and none are alike!
But we tend to forget about spoken word poems,
Hello Poetry, can you make it possible to share our spoken words as well as our massive pile on's of endless poetry. Spoken Words would add to the sight, and only make it better.
I wish I could also Use Hellopoetry on my mobile phone, in an app,
I'm not sure about anyone else, but that would maybe add to HP

Please consider what I've had to say, c:

truth be told,
I am not that bold.
It is a jab into my eye,
a reality full of lies that my mom blames this distress.
Hold on, I can't tell black from white. Might as well be blind, I can predict even the scenic route that people doubt. My whereabouts are no longer in a crowd, standing with witnesses is unhealthy for me.
I want privacy, isn't being alone key anyways? Who is to care
if I write "Beware" or just  stare. In the end, there is this sentence left to bare. Always interpreting the language I so rarely speak. Energy may flow for others, but I am not a plug one can spark by lousy remarks.