Poem -

Smell of fresh mown grass last day of August 2021

Smell of fresh mown grass last day of August 2021

Ah... already the summer
approaches closing time,
but yours truly can squeeze
one more rhyme
before September first,
thus the following lines after...

Brainstorming, concentrating
panning... for poem
idea shattered brew
tilly by deafening seasonal
greensward cutting crew
contracted throughout summer to mow
leaves of grass
every Tuesday, which drew
attention toward fragrant aroma
seeping into nostrils
of me - match hew,
heavily negated true

quiescence courtesy ear splitting
soundcloud of driving
mowers even moo
ving bovines would
clap cloven hooves
over soft as lambs wool

sensitive hearing micro corkscrew
innards, viz their spade
shaped audiological
anatomical accouterments -
cow word lee lowing Jew
pitter Io sliver by jove whew
once silence returns
(after cessation rip snorting bedlam)
savoring the hum of nature anew,
and moost likely relish
fresh cut leaves of grass
as I inhale analogous

delectable waft of homebrew
albeit molecules borne aloft
after sharp heavy duty blades
of industrial riding mowers bestrew
higglety pigglety, helter skelter
juicy fruit chlorophyll rich
plants releasing nectar
sweet as honeydew
olfactory imbibing nostalgic view
of yesterday, when agrarian farmsteads
populated landscape picturesquely
anointing, exuding, messaging...

perfuming faint clue
intimating rural lifestyle forebears
hapt tubby privy too,
where deer and antelope played
unaccosted by impending urbanization,
hence such idyllic serene rue
man nation - visage you
would probably concur
as most divine comity
worth more than any buckeroo
could purchase - vestiges vanishing
without a trace adieu
mother nature nowhere found
except caged up within human zoo.

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Poem -

Black Friday easel lee...

Black Friday easel lee brushed off...

and painted as a lamentable tirade
Amidst the madding crowd
the return of the native
...

Poem -

Once again snagged hooked...

Once again snagged hooked line and sinker...

courtesy a nymphomaniac on the prowl
for a 6-21-3-11 buddy to make whoopie
from getting me...

Poem -

Don't be snood dee,...

Don't be snood dee, but wattle you think about Thanksgiving gobbledygook?

The following anecdote baste
upon overactive imagination of mine
in sync with being married...

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