Somehow I ended up posting todays poem yesterday, so to day you get one of my favorite poems. This poem has been slightly revised from the first time that you saw it.
West at 2a.m.
These folks have been west at 2 a.m.
Gathering impressive numbers.
This entity is the Bream,
The backyard buttered toast made here
Since before European colonization.
This was their population
Like the Audubon Society,
A bunch of ghosts
Who make their most concentrated effort
At favored fish for the table.
Mitch experiences for many,
And did so for me
From early wood fire,
Homemade sausage, and native plants.
Mitch and I were visiting with an unusual
Diminutive creature that defies morning.
Blues Ally coincided with sunrise.
We cooked breakfast on a drift
When he mentioned the plant sale.
I timber along the edges,
So when I am seeing things
In the old home from search of catfish,
Plants are, I think, your childhood until now,
What spring fishing, bacon, and eggs are
Fresh from a chicken coop
Indigenous to the region.
He added, however, the September things
That attract him to the house are
Purely grand Insects and birds and deer
And such that have idea of ghost’s persuasion
Activity and the full moon just before daylight.
All were hard against tradition and simplicity.