Roguing

Ripped from her victory garden
With promises of Roses & Violets
Sugar & Sweet compliments

Tiny poems as pollen

Soon left alone, till in hand
Thistle seed as some parting gift
So goes love to life

Roguing now, she

Mothering nature
In the early Spring sun
Blamed, but cultivating, still

They

To the squirrel who pilfered
To the rabbit who skulked
I stand by my poison pen

Gone be the peaches I nurtured since spring
Struck down, the sweat-sown echinacea

The day-long and long night, again and again
The witnesses to the crimes against friend

But rather than hate, abate, terminate

I give gratitudinous nod
To berry, bean, basil

And rose

See, me and my pen
Befriend, overcome

Thus, conquering peskiest pests

Thanking Her Senses 

The furnace having done its job

Basks now, contentedly 

The boy asleep at daybreak’s glow 

Breathes rhythmic, calming me

The feline drowned in blanket rolls

Purrs more, despite her cool 

The dawn as pleased as she can be

Sits smiling, rosy fool