It is so very cold outside
Freezing my core, even my pride
When I try to walk
My legs are rigid cornstalks
And tears freeze to my cheek when I cry

A lady from the Midwest
Whose cooking is really the best
She can add the right spice
To make every food quite nice
Creating a feast is not really a test.

Apples represent sin
From Adam and Eve til today.
Remember, with the poison apple
Snow White lost her way.  

Yet Ben Franklin praised the fruit
As the key to avoid strife.
John Chapman planted apple trees
Wandering the country during his life.

How can it be a sin?
Enjoying this fruit everyday
Over seven thousand types of apples
Such a wonderful, vast array.  

Picking apples is such a wonderful task
Plucking fruit from the trees
Imagine harvesting baskets of fruit
With a gentle wind blowing through the leaves

So, enjoy the Granny Smiths and the Honeycrisps
Savor the Haralsons and Sweet Sixteens.
Apples make us so much better
Making us healthy human beings.

The fox ran across the prairie
His red, golden fur glistening in the sun
The dead rabbit clenched in his jaws
Now dinnertime, his hunting day done

He’d like to stop for a beer or two  
Maybe some wings at the pub
But mom and the kits are waiting at home
For their share of the grub.

He remembered the days of his youth
Yet, the time for chasing vixens is ended
The life of his family now matters most
He has responsibilities to be tended

So, the fox, his red, golden fur glistening
As he ran quickly across the prairie
Dinner he carried in his jaws
Coming home to his waiting family

A man once admired the clear blue sky
Looking up so very, very high
The sun was quite radiant
Not a single cloud existent
He smiled, not even having to try

He planted red roses to remember her,
when she died so many years ago.
They continue to blossom each year,
A memory that continues to grow.

The recycling plant burned last week
fire consumed acres of unprocessed scrap.
Flames licked at pieces of metal scrap,
burned the rubber tires and melted plastic.
Undrained gasoline and oil added to the smoke.

Tuesday morning a black mushroom cloud rose in the sky.
No worries, though.
The wind carried the smoke into the other county
Monticello will suffer but Becker lives to pollute another day

Wednesday morning the black mushroom cloud rose in the sky
The weather is cold
icicles grow on useless car bodies.
The firemen need dry socks.
Families live in safe hotels, upwind

Thursday morning gray clouds rose in the sky.
School is cancelled to protect the children.
The fire is controlled.
Protection is superfluous.

The recycling plant burned last week.
The fire is out.
People return to their homes.
Time for investigation and clean-up,
place some blame and show concern.
While Becker lives to pollute another day.

My cat is relaxed
In the sun, comfortably laid out
Not a care in the world,
No stress, no worry, no doubt  

Me, a twitchy ball of tension
Useless anxiety in my brain
I need to relax, like the cat,
Let go of this unnecessary strain

I can’t control the future
Have to let the worries go
Be more like the cat, relax
Take it easy, nice and slow.

Those dark ground beans
So flavorful and rich
Take it black, or with sugar and cream
It doesn’t matter which.

I drink it in the morning
As I watch the sun rise.
There seems to be some balance
Dark, steaming coffee and beautiful, blue skies

With my coffee in the morning
We plan out my day
Coffee and I discuss the job before me
And decide the best plan, the best way

Coffee punctuates my day
At the beginning and the end
In the morning I drink several cups
And say hello to a good friend

In the evening I prepare a fresh ***
And continue an established trend
For tomorrow we will rise and plan
Another day and tasks to tend.

Not much rain on the farm this season
The grass is brittle and brown.
The only water I find this year
Is the sweat on my hat crown

The horses are hot and uncomfortable
The wind feels like a blazing torch
Every day I look skyward and pray for relief
Instead I get blue sky, hot sun and earth scorched.

Climate and weather change from year to year
It really is quite amazing.
Rain last year meant a great harvest
This year, the horses have trouble grazing.

We irrigate a few of the gardens
The peppers and tomatoes are feeble and weak
The harvest might carry us to next year
This year minor success is all we seek

So why do we do this?
Trying to raise our own crop?
Every few years a sense of pride and success
Tells me “keep going don’t stop!”

Food, a joyous experience
Creates breathless excitement and anticipation
Whether its pizza, pasta, or taco salad
Ecstasy results with consuming the creation.

For charity I will shave my head.
A task I truly, absolutely dread.
I will sit and lose my locks.
My bald head, a major shock.
I do it fore the money we will ear.
No worries, my hair will quickly return.
So, for charity I will shave my head.
Cuz, it will grow back, or so they’ve said.

He was relatively unknown
Until the day he died
Now, some silently weep,
While others loudly cry.

They pushed on his neck
After they forced him to the ground
One cop killed George
While three other watched and stood around

More than George Floyd died
When he took his last breath
Minnesota lost so much
With the unknown man’s needless death  

The protests got out of control
With looting, riots, and fires result
The violence cheapened George’s memory
His death seemed forgotten amidst all the tumult

When calm is restored, maybe reform will come
And provide reason for this young man’s death.
Society must change and improve itself
To give reason to George Floyd’s last breath.

Heavy squares of grass
Bundled with twine
Dried shards scratch and cut your hands
Leaving slivers, causing pain and itch
Like an overzealous bee sting.

Stacking hay, a simple jig saw puzzle
Two front-to- back, two sideways,
Reverse, repeat

My advice: wear gloves.

Take heed to this message:
Folks, you need to relax.
The light at the end of the tunnel
Is not a train coming down the tracks.

We will survive this crisis.
Coronavirus will subside.
Life will get better  
In spite of this roller coaster ride.  

Stop hoarding food and supplies  
Put away the panic and fear  
We all need to relax
And give everyone a reason to cheer.

Will poetry make me immortal
With my words upon the page?  
Will people recognize my intellect?
And, call me a wise old sage?

Or, will they call me a hack?
My poem a simple ditty
My impact will be quite small
Maybe even itty bitty

Either way I’ll have an impact
With my poems, good or bad.
My words will expose emotion  
Whether the feeling is happy or sad.

Beer is such a wonderful treat.
The amber liquid is oh so sweet
It goes good with popcorn, brats, and chips.
You can drink it, chug it, or even sip.
There are IPA’s and lagers, too.
So many choices, more than a few.
So, enjoy your drink, quench your thirst.
Realize, when ranking libations, beer comes first.

Pity the living
a wise man once said.
It is so tranquil
lying here with the dead

Life is like a pizza,
The right ingredients make it quite nice.
Take a pepperoni pizza,
add some sausage for extra spice.
Add onions and peppers
For something bitter, sweet or hot.
Anchovies provide a unique experience.
Though most people prefer not.
Life can be like a pizza
Ingredients can make it sweet and hot.
At times it’s a little too spicy
Other times it hits the right spot.

A young girl liked to eat s'mores
Sadly, they clogged up her pores
She developed large pimples
that rivaled her dimples
and grew into large ****** sores.

There once was a man with large toes
He also wore very fine hose
His socks were grand
tho' an off name brand
A company called Socks for Schmoes

Once was a man who liked to laugh
Writing poetry was his hobby and craft
He’d create silly lines
Writing nonsensical rhymes
Sadly, his friends thought him quite daft.

Sand Hill Cranes live near the farm
And their songs cause significant alarm
They are really quite loud
And, oh so very proud
Of their many wonderful charms.

30 below zero in Winter
Flooding in Spring
Mosquitoes from Spring to September
Too many 100-degree Summer days
Autumn no longer exists
This is not global warming
This is climate change
Mother Nature is fighting back

I won’t qualify it
My dogs are my babies
There are no doubts
No if’s, and’s, but’s, or maybe’s

First Alex, as big as a horse
Then there was the barking of Emma Lou
Quincey also loves to make noise
Gracie Mae had her loud moments, too

Abbie is the latest to join the family
And Layla is the youngest of the lot
None of them really pure breds
Mostly just mutts, a true melting ***

Gracie couldn’t jump
And, Layla is a klutz
They were all very unique
A bunch of cute wiggle butts

As people go,
My dogs are all very smart
Each one has worked some magic
And won over my cold, hard heart

I really can’t qualify it
When I say my dogs are my babies
The statement is absolutely true
No if’s, and’s, but’s, or maybe’s

Okay, more about our farm animals.
Our horses, last but not least.
We have three: two gentle creatures
And one majestic beast.

Jet leads the herd
He thinks he’s the boss
Yet, with even the slightest, strange noise
His judgement is lost.

Ona, the Appaloosa
Has such a kind heart
Totally blind, yet a gentle steed
A sweet horse and incredibly smart

Lilly is the youngster of the pack
temperamental, and at times, even cross.
Yet, she helps Ona find her way
She leads a blind horse with a simple head toss

The horses on my farm
Are something to behold
All amazing animals
With enormous hearts of gold

So, those are my farm animals
Few pure breds, mostly mutts  
The horses, the dogs, the cats
Make up the farm we call Wiggle Butts

Never an athletic person
Clumsy, awkward, and klutzy
Seven years before I knew I couldn’t run
As a child, running caused a scrapped, ****** face
Run, face plant, ****** forehead, repeat
Run, face plant, ****** forehead, repeat
Walk quickly—no damage

At age 50 I still can’t run.
Playing softball—hit the ball
Run 30 feet towards first base
Face plant, ****** nose
Smart enough not to repeat

My kitty, Sis, is a barn cat
All scraggly, *****, and matted hair.
I’ll clean her up and comb out her fur
A few hours later, she looks worse for wear.

Scratch her ears and pet around her neck
She’ll purr for you real nice.  
She sleeps during the day.
At night, she keeps away the mice.

My little kitty is good cat

I dreamt I was a grapefruit
Sweet, not at all ****.
My body was roly-poly round
And inside, I had a big heart.

Why do I write this silliness?
It helps relieve the strain.
I am able to lose so much stress
and alleviate my brain.  

Maybe I should be an artichoke
A difficult word to rhyme
It’s also covered in prickly leaves
Not relaxing, just a waste of time.

Let me dream of being sweet fruit
Something to eliminate the stress
I’ll be something people love
A sticky, sweet mess.

Air isn't crisp, it is cold
White steam spews from your lungs
The cold air burns behind your eyes
All the way to your brain
Breathe through your nose.
The cold creeps through the layers
Making your skin tingle.
Winter has come early this year.
It is November in Minnesota

An amazing variety of potatoes in the world
You have white potatoes, sweet potatoes, even blue and red
A remarkable little vegetable
That keeps the world fed.

First grown in South America
Once regarded as just a pretty flower
It slowly spread around the world
Yet, took time to reveal its food power.  

Referred to, early on, as the Devil’s Root
And debated as a safe food to eat.
Today, it is most flavorful
When combined with carrots and meat.

Potatoes saved many from starvation
With the many varieties that are bred
This amazing little vegetable
Has kept the world fed.

Minimizing my personal visits
And confined to my home
The virus had sequestered my social life
And reduced my ability to roam

I’m allowed to go outside
But must stay six feet away
Keep out of the parks
No time or space to play.

Stay covered by face masks
Not allowed to shake hands
Please keep your distance
Be careful where you stand

Now, they say my dogs can get it
Come down with the virus, too.
It is taking away everything I Iove
No wonder I’m feeling so blue

Before this, my life wasn’t really busy
But what I had, I enjoyed
The virus has taken away my happiness
And left me with a big, empty void.

When this is over, I’ll have my dogs back
I’ll reacquaint with my friends
I’ll rebuild my social life
And this terrible dream will come to an end.

"Insecticide is safe, you can drink it."
Or, so the salesman said
So I tried some in my coffee
Now, I am dead.

There once was a football cheerleader
As quick as a small water skeeter.
She could shake and she could twirl  
She could flip and she could whirl.
In competition, no one could beat her.

My dog ate my pork chops
Left me nothing but wrapper tops
I put it out to thaw
He ate it while still raw
Now my dinner is soup and soda pop

The drought is finally over
Water is falling from the sky
The crops are slowly coming back
There’s mud in the pig sty.

Yes, the drought is finally over
The swamp is slowly filling
The mosquitoes will soon return.
Swatting them will be thrilling.

Yes, the drought is finally over
Soon we return to norm,
Complaints about too wet weather
Will come with every storm.

Green sprouts emerge.
Magically rising out of the soil,
competing with the weeds.
Tomatoes stretch out, beans squirm upwards.
Melons, squash, lettuce, and onions rise up
towards the sun and the sky.
Soon to bear fruit.
I am witness to a future feast!

Last night, the barn cat caught a gopher
Later, her eyes told me
"it was delicious."

The grandkids are visiting.
Here for a week or two.
We’ll play, and run, and do some games.
Exhausted when we’re through

The grandkids have come to visit.
Their stay is never long.
They come, they visit, they play, they leave.
Their departure too quick and so wrong.

Poetry need not be serious
There is too much drama in the world
My brain is already tied in knots
Poetry gets it unfurled

We need some lighter poetry
writing silly lines is a true craft
We need more whimsical work
something to make us laugh

And so, my poetry is light
and a little bit crude
It's designed to entertain
and create a laugh for me and you

There hangs a clock on the wall
Behind it lives a mouse, so incredibly small
When the clock strikes five
In its hole the mouse does dive
And through the wall continues to crawl

In the building the mouse proceeds to creep
Up support beams so very steep
It continues to explore
From the ceiling to the floor
Not making a sound nor squeak.

While the household restfully sleeps
The mouse continues to sneak
He seeks out every little treasure
Food of even the smallest measure
Crumbs that provide plentiful eats  

When the clock signals the morn
The mouse is completely worn.
He returns to his bed
To rest his weary head
Neither happy nor terribly forlorn

I can't see the wind
On my face I can feel
Does that make the wind
any less real?

God--same question

I have some tchotchkes sitting on a shelf.
They serve a great purpose in helping myself.
Some bobble-head dolls and a few coffee cups,
Provide emotional support, they are joy-filled pick me ups.

Some people collect stones that warm their heart.
Others gather books that make them feel smart.
Some collect artwork or maybe coins bring them joy.
Riches of the heart that come in the form of a toy.

We all have our trinkets that bring some delight.
Look at them and smile, they make you feel just right.
So, enjoy the baubles, the ornaments on the shelf,
They serve a great purpose providing joy to yourself.

Sitting on my porch,
Watching the world pass by.
Enjoying the minor changes,
The green grass grows tall and the birds fly high.

The joy is in the small details.
Fluffy white clouds appear then dissolve.
Birds land, then quickly fly away
While the world continues to revolve

The trees bend in the breeze
The blue sky above the treetops
Below at the roots: dark soil and dead leaves.
Mixed with the debris: a clutter of small rocks.

A yellow bi-plane flies above
Setting up to spray the fields
No doubt his work and planning
Results in a huge harvest yield

Sitting on my porch
Watching the world go by
The joy is in the details
Whether on the ground or in the blue sky.

A tree lives outside my window
Its appearance: a leafless, barren stick
Muddy, ugly land around it
About as lovely as a tick.

The late Winter weather
Causes mud from melted snow
The ground is still and life less
Too cold for anything to grow.  

The wind remains a biting cold
It comes out of the North
Urging us to stay inside
Warning us: don’t venture forth

Yet, the Winter weather
Should not cause despair
Soon will come the Springtime
With green grass and crisp fresh air  

So don’t dismay with the cold North wind
Or, lose hope with the ugly, barren ground
Soon green grass of Spring will emerge
Blue sky, warm sun, and joy will be found.

I feel sorry for my Dentist
He doesn’t want to cause me pain
When he drills into my mouth
He suffers great emotional strain.

When the tears run down my cheeks
I am sure he sympathizes
There isn’t enough Novocain in the world
And this, he surely realizes.

As he drills into my teeth
One thing we are both sure
The pain he inflicts on me
Is more than I can endure.

Yes, I feel sorry for my Dentist
And the pain he tends to inflict
I don’t know who suffers most
Who is the most sick.