J. Kevin Wolfe

With These Hands I

With these hands I
have held the most precious
human thing:

a fresh life gasping from
warm maternal waters

a self
realized in the cutting of
a tether

in the starkness of
the gravity-ladden air

From the one comes
the two
the two
ever long to
be one again

There is Anarchy in the Summerfields

There is anarchy in the summerfields

The soybeans
are Socialist Democract
with each
growing to a uniform height
never wanting
greater height than neighbor plants

The corn
a Monarchy,
tall, proud but thin, fragile;
standing on dirt

Wheat is Communist
using the manifesto wind
as an excuse
to wave in unison,
but only managing an occasional ripple

   Green Beans
are Democracy
thinking they can grow
as long as they want, but
just getting tangled
in each other's vines


Let us lie
in the cool grass
of an warm August night

And a soft blanket of stars
shall be all that covers us

The crickets shall sing
The trees shall sway
The moon shall blush
And only the evening
will know our secrets

e-mail the poet at wolfe@psionworld.net
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