Por Joe

Outside the wind

howls

and snow drifts 

pile high against the cabin—

this cold, arctic night

trapping me in,

laying siege

to my log fortress.

So I turn my thoughts toward dinner:

An omelet sounds good—

with a side of bacon.

I toss a couple strips on the pan 

and watch them sizzle I

n their fat.

I start to put the rest

away, but—

Oh what the heck.

Sitting on the couch

with my eggs

and a pound of bacon

and NCIS on the TV screen,

I hit 

'play all.'

And lifting my glass 

filled with box wine

from the frig 

I raise a toast

to a good friend.

Ode to the Flannel

(I wrote this poem several years ago for another blog All Roads Lead Home.)

Roots from the ancient
mystical forest
Rich in lore and legend
The flannel makes it’s home
amongst us
And is friends with the creatures
of the earth.

It comes from the dwindling
Flannel Forests
The magical woods of Europe
To make its home
In our bedrooms and stores
And to give us strength to work

The flannel is soft
To the touch of our skin
But strong like the mighty oak
It comes in a myriad of
Unique designs--
Solid, checkered, and plaid.

The flannel stands
As a proud, valiant symbol
Of the hardworking American way
So stand and salute
The freedom of flannel
And long live the flannel today.

Boredom (An Acrostic)

      Bored
    bOred
   boRed
  borEd
boreD
     bOred
     i'M bored,
if you couldn't tell.

An Apology

Distractions

from different places snatch

my mind away

as we sit

and talk.

I try

to listen, to give

you my full attent—

I should read

this email, perhaps

reply, But…

Oil.

Car.

That’s right. I should change

it soon and

bills

need to be paid and

my room

needs cleaning and I

really should write

my parents and

oh I got a text

and dinner.

What am I going to—

No!

My friends

must

come first.

The rest of my life

can wait.