I can't see the wind
On my face I can feel
Does that make the wind
any less real?

God--same question

An amazing variety of potatoes in the world
You have white potatoes, sweet potatoes, even blue and red
A remarkable little vegetable
That keeps the world fed.

First grown in South America
Once regarded as just a pretty flower
It slowly spread around the world
Yet, took time to reveal its food power.  

Referred to, early on, as the Devil’s Root
And debated as a safe food to eat.
Today, it is most flavorful
When combined with carrots and meat.

Potatoes saved many from starvation
With the many varieties that are bred
This amazing little vegetable
Has kept the world fed.

He was relatively unknown
Until the day he died
Now, some silently weep,
While others loudly cry.

They pushed on his neck
After they forced him to the ground
One cop killed George
While three other watched and stood around

More than George Floyd died
When he took his last breath
Minnesota lost so much
With the unknown man’s needless death  

The protests got out of control
With looting, riots, and fires result
The violence cheapened George’s memory
His death seemed forgotten amidst all the tumult

When calm is restored, maybe reform will come
And provide reason for this young man’s death.
Society must change and improve itself
To give reason to George Floyd’s last breath.

The fox ran across the prairie
His red, golden fur glistening in the sun
The dead rabbit clenched in his jaws
Now dinnertime, his hunting day done

He’d like to stop for a beer or two  
Maybe some wings at the pub
But mom and the kits are waiting at home
For their share of the grub.

He remembered the days of his youth
Yet, the time for chasing vixens is ended
The life of his family now matters most
He has responsibilities to be tended

So, the fox, his red, golden fur glistening
As he ran quickly across the prairie
Dinner he carried in his jaws
Coming home to his waiting family

Will poetry make me immortal
With my words upon the page?  
Will people recognize my intellect?
And, call me a wise old sage?

Or, will they call me a hack?
My poem a simple ditty
My impact will be quite small
Maybe even itty bitty

Either way I’ll have an impact
With my poems, good or bad.
My words will expose emotion  
Whether the feeling is happy or sad.

Minimizing my personal visits
And confined to my home
The virus had sequestered my social life
And reduced my ability to roam

I’m allowed to go outside
But must stay six feet away
Keep out of the parks
No time or space to play.

Stay covered by face masks
Not allowed to shake hands
Please keep your distance
Be careful where you stand

Now, they say my dogs can get it
Come down with the virus, too.
It is taking away everything I Iove
No wonder I’m feeling so blue

Before this, my life wasn’t really busy
But what I had, I enjoyed
The virus has taken away my happiness
And left me with a big, empty void.

When this is over, I’ll have my dogs back
I’ll reacquaint with my friends
I’ll rebuild my social life
And this terrible dream will come to an end.

Never an athletic person
Clumsy, awkward, and klutzy
Seven years before I knew I couldn’t run
As a child, running caused a scrapped, ****** face
Run, face plant, ****** forehead, repeat
Run, face plant, ****** forehead, repeat
Walk quickly—no damage

At age 50 I still can’t run.
Playing softball—hit the ball
Run 30 feet towards first base
Face plant, ****** nose
Smart enough not to repeat