Just You and I My Friends

How funny that I sit here writing poetry on my Word program. Two window open and one is this and the other a brutal negative evaluation of a international corporation. I bury them and call into question veracity and accuracy in representation. I do my “job”. Sometimes that means to tear things down that are really just fine and dandy to my mind. But I do not get paid to be nice, I am hired to cause hell sometimes.

So off I go on the sweet and natural. Like walks in nature or even tough climbing. The breath of freedom caused by the slightest of breezes. The sound of an eagle’s wings as it takes off from a perch. A tiny gurgling waterfall and the smell of natural mulch nearby. Minnows nibble at my toes as I cool them in the creek. My pad and pen come out in a blissful solitude from man and yet my best friends all around me. Phone gets turned off, as society gets tuned out. As habit the deep breathing and eyes closed settle me into a guided imagery that is the here and now and not elsewhere. I am in that place and I shall never truly leave.

Oh good friends how long it has been

Excuses a plenty where should I begin

What you say you do not even care

Troubles with the world you would not dare

Let me tell oh babbling creek

Getting back here is what I seek

But worry and work they keep me sick

Not enough time to play with a stick

But today I sit here on your banks in joy

Once again alive and well like a little boy

Dandelion and Dragonfly welcome me home

Away from weary where I do roam

Well you have drought and even floods and fire

Who am I to speak of my life so dire?

War and money keep me so full time

Yes I know no “reason or rhyme”

But now we sit our hand in hand

And welcome in this glorious land

Big tall trees that sway in the breeze

And fields of clover that grow with ease

Grean and browns and shade of blue

Remind me I am at home so true.

Thanks for taking a little trip with me. Not to worry I am back from out there. I will stay out there for some time and will return soon. I reckon I will get by in spite of myself. Perhaps I don’t belong in this big old house or even close to the big city. Sometimes I think I cause more harm than good. Probably I should not think of it too much. Living under that big old Sycamore tree might not work for too long.