Here I go again.
Once more I write
what comes to my
mind, as I try
to bring forth thoughts,
from the deepest past.
Thoughts from long ago,
that I no longer can
recall or see,
when I peer back,
into my cluttered mind.
I hope this writing
of my thoughts
will keep coming,
so that very soon
I will recall
those thoughts and memories
that I can embellish
and find the time,
for thee. Fine tune is
a broad term that
I hope to convey,
when all my thoughts
remain or stay
to explain to you
what I always must
of all this random
wordly dust.

A gentle breeze blows across my brow
as I dig holes for fall plantings.
The problem, I have, with
planting European Bluebells,
is the many roots that grow,
beneath the tree. Not big,
just small roots that must be cut.
Instructions are to plant under a tree
and they will multiply.
I'm anxious to see the results
next Spring.

Sometimes when I'm writing,
I would swear, my mind
Has thoughts of it's own.

With pen in hand, I write
The words that pop into
This brain of mine.
Writing fast, scribbling here,
Unable to read the words
As they fly by, as I attempt to
Write. Oh my goodness
There is no period in sight
To end all this rambling
Prose. There. Finally one
Did appear, but what happened
To the commas?
Did they disappear?
I wish I knew, for it would
Make it clear, that my
Writing sense is not here.

Some sunny days,
Some cooler nights.
Down came the rain
To my delight.
No watering needed by me
To keep the plants
And grass so greenly,
Except the plants
Under the umbrellas.