Category Archives: poem, poetry, Nature,

WICKED WAYS

On the farm
lots of the things
                    that

go bump in the night
are seldom ghoulish,
hardly ever extreme

just Nature
        unflexing, having
a little fun, making
some sport

reminding me
       who’s boss
should I
ever
     presume otherwise

keeping it clear
    should I have naively
allowed myself
to
forget

justly accused
of having a nerve

to overlook
the terrible abundance, syrup
lips

all she can take
      all she

can give

      the wonder
of her wicked ways.