How many women

did it take to clean Trump’s clock?

Only one. It took no time.

~

Though it has been cleaned,

it has not been sanitized

and remains highly toxic.

Early autumn fog

casts about pastoral lands

a delicate sfumato

~

And it left many

drivers flummoxed as they tried

to stay on the road.

Is counting wobbles

the same as counting steps or

do I need another app?

~

It’s no app you need

to address your wobbled step-

A new cane.. or knee.. or hip.

Rush not the seasons.

Relax, relish, and reflect

on this life’s revolutions.

~

Such good advice might

land on deaf ears, but it is

still well worth giving.

Knox will chase the ball,

but he refuses to fetch.

He thinks that’s our job.

~

On the other hand,

he has made it his mission,

to chip up all fallen logs.

As our years go by

the pace of events quickens

until the world is a blur.

~

My grandkids say it’s

not the world that is a blur,

but it’s us old folks who are.

Early morning mist,

both inside and out – hazy

start to a new day.

~

Haze can clarify

our view of reality;

concealing expectations.

Sounds of industry

duel with pastoral noises

forming the country gestalt.

~

Sometimes “both, and” can

leave us with the worst of both

and leave us discontented.

September has brought

sunny and cool days, giving

us a needed break.

~

Glorious it is

this alchemical melding-

warming sun and cooling breeze.

Things get messier

every time we start to clean,

or, at least, that’s how it seems.

~

It seems we manage

not to see the state of things

til we’re ready to begin..

Isn’t it wild

that Peter Piper could pick

peppers pickled on the vine?

~

That’s as wild as

Donald Duck’s delusions of

Democratic defections.

Remember last week,

smiling in warm regard

for the temperate reprieve.

~

The only thing we

count on is change as changing

temperatures show us so well.

Thank you, butterfly,

for the dash of color you

brought to this overcast day.

~

Some serve a purpose

beyond productivity:

providing aesthetic joy.

Every fallen leaf

seems to harbor basins full

of estuary systems

~

All around us lie

worlds in miniature waiting

to be discovered.

They believe if they

ban books and constantly tell

lies, victory will be theirs.

~

The tighter they close

their fists on power’s reins,

all the more will fight the bit.

Convolutions writhe

in gordian-like wonder

on the surface of the burl.

~

Convolutions writhe

within as they struggle to

justify their wrongs.

Glad we made good use

of those unusually cool

days while we had a chance.

~

Yes. The heat’s return

evaporates the river

with my will to play therein.

Vaguely verdant hues

really don’t belong up there

in those storm clouds overhead.

~

Sometimes things get turned

upside down and that’s also

true of the weather.

Even with the best

effort, we sometimes fail. What

we do next is what matters.

~

Perfection, the goal,

is always out of reach;

Progress is our only gauge.

Cicadas herald

August’s seasonal return

to expected temperature.

~

Cicadas herald

and we lament, wishing cool

temperatures would hurry back.

How moving it was

to see that young man display

his loving pride in his dad.

~

That love is expressed

in a different way, I’m sure,

when not under the spot light.

Waist high grass succumbs,

to the high speed whirring blades

of my ancient green John Deere.

~

Just an example

that we ancient ones are still

quite able to fill the bill.

Let’s make the best of

these cool sunny days, August’s

unexpected gift.

~

Most unlike August,

providing us with such joy.

Let us take this boon and run!

Alone in the dark,

with our blackest secret thoughts,

do we like what we behold?

~

In night’s dark quiet

our story telling mind tells

us tales awful and sublime.

Be sure to look up

and see the super blue moon

grace the sky tonight.

~

For meditation,

Selinekazóntas sure beats

Omphaloskepsis hands down.

The absence of words

appears to be no limit

to art appreciation.

~

In wordless wonder

we stand and gaze, allowing

art to take us where it will.

Sun darts in and out

with a timing known only

to its sunny self.

~

Obscuring clouds glow,

shining in the radiance

of the beacon they obscure.

Time will cure all wounds,

even planetary scabs,

only when the knife’s removed.

~

Time alone won’t cure

our planetary wounds. First

we must acknowledge they’re there.

They don’t try to hog

the sky. Those joyous white clouds

scatter hugs instead.

~

Proving the adage;

“Fluffier is cuddlier”,

as I have long suspected.

Though the grass grows tall

under brutal August sun,

the heat saps my will to mow.

~

In seventeen days,

you’ll have to come up with new

excuses. The muse might help.