I had a few frozen shoulders and cant throw a football. I have Dupuytren's on both hands and haven't played an accordion in years. I garden twenty minutes at a time, and if the grandkids are here, I pay them handsomely to pull weeds - NOT THAT, THAT'S A FENNEL PLANT! I have a hearing aid and I use it if I need to understand more than 40% of the conversation. I need drugs to fall asleep for more than two hours. But my god, I enjoy this place. Watching a football game with the grandkids, the dog asleep behind my neck. Giving onions away when they're big and juicy, cutting down a marijuana plant, curing it, and giving the stuff away, watching the boys play flag football, basketball, baseball. Cooper is also a pitcher. He enjoys winning a game, but he also shows such sweet good sportsmanship that it brings tears to my eyes. Most everything in the world is a mess, and I hope we all survive. The world terrifies me. But the things I enjoy, I really enjoy. I'll miss it all. Hopefully not soon.
I don't smoke marijuana, but I highly recommend hands rolled cigars. A mellow high that complements the small pleasures of our geriatric days and brings back memories of youthful vigor.
If I smoked a joint, I'd be coughing for an hour, and intermittently saying "Oh wow."
I give it all away, take the leftover leaves, and simmer them with a few pounds of butter. Use them to make pastries of one kind or another. Edibles. That I can handle. I put the bud in mason jars, put a ribbon around them, and give them out to people who come over the house.
I do not often write poetry. This poem was inspired by a Columbian hand-wrapped Churchill cigar. Is this poetry? Carl Sandburg says it is. But his definition of a poem was quite generous. 😐
I had a few frozen shoulders and cant throw a football. I have Dupuytren's on both hands and haven't played an accordion in years. I garden twenty minutes at a time, and if the grandkids are here, I pay them handsomely to pull weeds - NOT THAT, THAT'S A FENNEL PLANT! I have a hearing aid and I use it if I need to understand more than 40% of the conversation. I need drugs to fall asleep for more than two hours. But my god, I enjoy this place. Watching a football game with the grandkids, the dog asleep behind my neck. Giving onions away when they're big and juicy, cutting down a marijuana plant, curing it, and giving the stuff away, watching the boys play flag football, basketball, baseball. Cooper is also a pitcher. He enjoys winning a game, but he also shows such sweet good sportsmanship that it brings tears to my eyes. Most everything in the world is a mess, and I hope we all survive. The world terrifies me. But the things I enjoy, I really enjoy. I'll miss it all. Hopefully not soon.
I don't smoke marijuana, but I highly recommend hands rolled cigars. A mellow high that complements the small pleasures of our geriatric days and brings back memories of youthful vigor.
If I smoked a joint, I'd be coughing for an hour, and intermittently saying "Oh wow."
I give it all away, take the leftover leaves, and simmer them with a few pounds of butter. Use them to make pastries of one kind or another. Edibles. That I can handle. I put the bud in mason jars, put a ribbon around them, and give them out to people who come over the house.
Such an evocative essay. I like it very much.
I do not often write poetry. This poem was inspired by a Columbian hand-wrapped Churchill cigar. Is this poetry? Carl Sandburg says it is. But his definition of a poem was quite generous. 😐
You found the language that supported the emotion. It matters little what you call it. In my opinion!
Pretty fantastic, Y.