Fool me Once

Fool me twice

shame on you.

Fool me once

shame on you.

Fool me three times

SHAME on you.

Fool me four times

Shame Shame on you.

Fool me five times

SHAME SHAME SHAME on you.

Fool me six times

SHAME SHAME SHAME SHAME SHAME

on YOU.

Fool me seven, eight or nine more times

pretty soon I’ll be broke and

you will find another fool.

This poem might describe how I feel 

about the Democratic Party. 

Or it could be how I feel about relatives 

and assorted folks who 

have the wrong idea about the size of my wallet. 

Could be both. 

Yeah its both.  

Mortar and Wrestle

The mortar trowel
I found in my brother's garage clean out
following his death,
has found new life with me
in my garden.
The smallish wooden handle
fits my fist.
When my right hand
stabs the earth
the sharply pointed flat blade
makes digging
among stones less troublesome.
Some store bought plants,
some from seed
handed down through the years
replace the stones and dirt.
"grow fast little plant"

It is like this year after year,
come to the end of planting
and begin again
a round of weeding.
Why is it, I wonder
the weeds always get to the
water and nutrients first.
Most years barely enough,
some years not enough,
to go around.
My plants, so carefully placed,
suffer most.
The weeds thrive on.
Always, the weeds thrive on.
Grow fast little plant
your roots must out grow the weeds
if you want to survive.

Monday Morning Blahs

He painted Saturday
half a day.
And then, on Sunday,
Mothers Day,
He painted till two.
Monday morning
though our day
has started
full of birdsong,
sunshine,
mild breezes,
he is painting
while I
do this before we
go to work in
our garden.

A private aircraft
buzzes circles
too
high to be spraying
weed killer in the
fields. I go out
for a look see
and find the fresh air
appealing.