April Poetry


Tobacco Barns, Mt. Sterling

Wooden slats sneak peeks into pastures and

Stave off pitter-pattery rain as slivvery moonlight 

Slips through praising the once proud king.

Weary, weather-worn, it still cures

 A Progress Pandemic mere miles away

Where the world rushes west toward

Big City Business or east

To sit at the feet of the great

Daniel Boone.


Here, no woe,

No  gnashing of teeth.

No showy warnings.

Only steadfast attempts to

Waylay the future,

Stay in the moment,

Be in the now,



Mary’s Sacrifice

White alabaster

Willingly broken,

Fragrance poured onto the

Son of God,

Soon to be

Willingly broken,

Freedom soon poured out to






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