July 22

Purple Beans


The purple beans are ready for harvest

From long vines upon the tired old fence

Of course there’s inspection with a taste test

Please believe the fresh-picked flavor is intense

Have to be sure not to eat the whole lot

Before I can get them into the pot.


(An English Sestet Poem)

May 22



I don’t know why but I grew it

To figure out now what to do

Bake, roast, mash, sauté, or stew it

To peel or leave as it grew.

          So sour to taste when I chew it

          These plants – don’t need more than a few


Rough green leaves grow to large sizes

Ruby red stalks are the best part

The flavor really surprises

Add sugar to make it less tart

          Sweeten when the chance arises

          Not eating the leaves is so smart


Don’t know if it’s veggie or fruit

All depends on how it’s applied

You ingest neither leaves nor root

Normally you don’t see it fried

          To grow is an easy pursuit

          To use you may be stupefied


I’m thrilled in my garden it grows

Each spring I choose to display it

In sauces and in pies it goes

Season’s end – how to delay it?

          The people who enjoy it know

          Craving – be sure to obey it.


(An Inverted Refrain Poem)

February 26

6 Pack


Opted to take home a six pack

My will power shut down

When I spied them

Then I tried them

For these they are renown


Better than any from my town

Lovingly deep-fried them

Each made from scratch

Batch after batch

Some with fruit inside them.


The icing identified them

I know there’s no match

Cooling on a rack

Worth a greenback

I’ll put them down the hatch.


My buckle I’ll have to detach

Oh please cut me some slack

Not a let down

I smile don’t frown

and know I will be back.


(A Roundabout Poem)

January 28

First Egg of the Season


Today I found the first egg

Tucked in the pine flakes of the nest.

I am not sure which of the flock

Of colorful happy hens

Decided to lay the harbinger of spring



This perfect pale pink egg was first

Hopefully of many an egg

Laid throughout the spring

Deposited into the nest

By the chatty hens

That make up my flock.


I’m enamored by my flock

Though they aren’t my first

They are smart and chatty hens

That lay colorful eggs

Blues, pinks, browns fill the nest

Late winter summer fall and spring.


Their productions ramps up in spring

And busy stays my flock

Rotating from coop to yard to nest

The same speckled lady comes to the door first

As I let them out and then check for an egg

laid by one of my personable hens.


I just love my feathered fluffy hens

Molting in fall, laying in spring

Regularly producing eggs

Chirps and squawks from the flock.

Without a rooster they don’t awaken first

Then after a morning wander they return to their nest.


Each day I check for a surprise in the nest

Left not by choice but by instinct by the hens.

I feed them and water them first

And let them roam free on the warm days of spring

They make a friendly boisterous flock

Talking back, starting trouble, announcing an egg.


There is nothing like finding eggs tucked safely into the nest

Produced by my flock of happy colorful hens

Though they produce a lot summer fall and spring the best is finding the first.

(A Sestina Poem)