A NEW HORIZON
My Robert loved reciting his proud
Eskimo Haiku: “Drip, drip, drip! Spring
has come into my livingroom.” Now
I have a poem called grip, grip, grip.
I have a grip on grief, i have a grip
on not telling lies, I have a grip on moving,
plowing away avalanches of cobwebs
obscuring my thinking clearly, oh indeed.
You see, I am sissified cowboy who has been
on range of broken fences way way too long.
I’ve been lately avenging my cravenness.
This point, I’m going say I love you to everybody,
even ones I’ve felt slighted by, granted they may
have all reasons because of my shortsightedness.
I ponder now Robert Frost’s mended fences,
I have a front hedge that makes me neighborly.
So all and all weary worn but mending I’m proverbially
putting my newly refurbished saddle on my horsey.
Let me spelled out so plainly, I’m truly glad about all
this invigoration pulsating in my sheer existence.
By Cracky! I’m Gordon MacRrae, “Oh, what a beautiful
morning” as I rise for another cup of Yuban, shutters open.