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spring planting, spring harvesting, spring garlic

One of the great joys of having a job in agriculture
is to think days, weeks, even months ahead,
One of the great joys of having a job in poetry,
like a fireman,  a patient planter of love,
you wait to be called,
then becoming by being,
part of an all consuming burning

come spring, take advantage of the cool, wet weather of spring
to put in multiple crops of peas and lettuce, also a great time
to get your perennial vegetables,
like asparagus and rhubarb, started

the planting cycle is not an either/or,
come harvest thy labored fruits,
nine crops to harvest come March,
kale, pick leaves as needed,
leeks, best left in the ground
and harvested as needed,
parsnips, purple sprouting broccoli,
rhubarb, spring cabbage, spring cauliflower,
and of course, my personal fav,
Spring Garlic

Garlic, like like love, is generally planted in the fall,
before the frost and harvested the following late summer.
But from March to May,
once the ground has truly thawed,
the young lover plants, spring garlic or green garlic,
can be harvested.

it’s a long bus ride to Western Canada
where the garlic spring has come,
ain’t complaining lots of time to write foolishness
and plant a few good bus poems in northern ontario
and even michigan,
the window slides, and the seeds scattered,
but at every bus poet stop,
those that need it,
planted many inches deep

April 2 naught how I wish I was nineteen again
wayne mockler Feb 25
The  terror in the wild west    

The carrage rides into  the town while look out amongst the plain of the land the hills that  stand high into  the sky and  the sun beams down on our horse drawn carage while we  roll down  the  enbankment  towards the city of   hope.
  The sound of war cry can be heard  while we look out in  to the western planes and  our guns fire out into the distant  land Indians can been seen pushing our horses into the  ground while the carrage comes to a grinding halt high into the mountains and away from the town of  heavenly  hope.
We get out of the carrage  and line up  along the  rocks of evil  whilst the indians look with  intent at our misfortune  while we stand in terror  and wonder what outcome will be and think of our loving family in this terror of the west . The indians walk up and down our group  and ponder their  next move.  
The indians single out  a  man  and woman in our group and holding out  their ponted  fingers take them away from us  behind a large  rock of shame.   Our eyes  beam with terror and shame    while  we hear screams coming from behind this massive rock.  The indians come back  with a twisted and satisfied  look on their  faces holding the clothing of the  man and woman and two sets  of hair that belong to each person.  
We look in disgust at the indians at  what  they have done to our fellow humans . We are then  escorted away from the rock and down towards  the tribe of terror thousands of indians  in the valley await our arrival  and our hearts  drop  with shame  and  terror waiting for our fate with terror in our eyes
written by wayne mockler
copyright ownership wayne mockler
Juho hankela Dec 2018
Another sundown.
I must have seen a million by now.
God knows I’ll see a million more.
Roaming this barren land, incapable of emotion and unable to die. Each passing day only works to prolong my pain. I have lost the ability to see beauty in and around me. Once a man has seen his millionth sunrise he suddenly stops seeing them. Actually seeing them. He becomes blind to what once was beautiful and his heart stops caring. There is nothing but a long tiresome ride. Back and forth forevermore.

A ride without reason and a man without meaning.

A tale as old as time.
Temporal Fugue Nov 2018
Kai yi yippy kai yay, kai yay, kai yi yippy kai yay
Out of the east's rising sun
He rode his horse, twas a bay
He wore his irons, double six gun
Singing kai yi yippy kai yay

A large tin star upon his chest
Few words did he have, or say
Heading out into the wild wild west
Singing kai yi yippy, kai yay

Ranger he was from San Antone
A professional with a gun and draw
He always worked on his own
Putting down every and each outlaw
Kai yi yippy kai yay, kai yippy kai yo

He met his end one summer's eve
At a place called "Hannibal Red's"
While he was upstairs at feminine play
He was up and shot through the head
Yippy's no more, and no more kai yay's

His journey at it's end they lament
The lady attests he had his way
As both of  his heads had been spent
At the end of Ranger's last day

"Kai yi yippy" she screamed
And two ejections were made
One from a gun, another one streamed
And conveyed

Kai yi yippy kai yay, yes
Kai yi yippy kai yay

Such was the gun
a delivering son

Ki yi yippy, kai yay
Yeeeeeee Haaaawwwwww ;D
Julie Rogers Nov 2018
Mama said there’s no more
cowboys in the west
Just lizard men
with monsters on their chest
No more southern belles
just slimy sugar snakes
Smearing their lips with fish scales
to taste like cake

Mama said there’s no more
cowboys to ride into the dawn
Just scattered limbs passed out
in the front lawn
No cupcake women
hosting great soirées
Just frightened deer
that stare into the grey
Pauper of Prose Oct 2018
She lays along her porch
In clothes of comfort
Enclosed in comforts
A modest house
A ancestral skill
A family purring in peace
Yet I’d only want a piece
Of her
None of all that other
Such a western reality
Is rooted in my mentality
To see her behind a glass
As children gawk and gasp
There's a storm a brewin'
You can feel it in your bones
The wind has changed direction
You can hear just how it moans

Silence, all the birds are gone
The dust is moving hard
There's a storm a brewin'
And the devil deals the cards

Batten down the hatches
Let the horses all run free
They'll survive out in the wild
They ain't like you and me

Keep them in the barn tonight
Sure as shooting, when it's done
There won't be one left standing
The storm won't leave you one

The sky is coloured yellow
There's a smell there in the air
There's a storm a brewin'
Try and beat it if you dare

You know you can't outrun it
Best to get to ground
The worst part is the silence
Before it hits there is no sound

There's a storm a brewin'
I'll take my leave now, just as well
I'm off to find a safe place
There it is....I said...that smell

There's a storm a brewin'
Neville Johnson May 2018
It’s an eight second partnership
The bronc, an angry participant
And me, I’m just trying to keep my legs in the stirrups
My hands on the reins
My wits about me
In one piece
Welcome to my world
It’s a family affair
Me and my sons, Troy and Dusty
Traveling day and night just to fight
For a living, one unforgiving
But exciting as the day is long
And to keep that ranch in Utah going
200 head of cattle and worries about enough rain
Are in our thoughts as we live the literal ups and downs of rodeo
We’re in the saddle for good
For life
Living our destiny
As we should
As we want to
As we have
Simone Gabrielli Apr 2018
The same gilded sun of western dreams
It shines so lone for kinds as us
Wandering eyes hypnotized
By that cosmic, copper ****
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