Monday, July 13, 2015


Send forth the Lions, let them eat their fill!
Meat that was running, fresh from the kill.
The lone farmer knew it was too dry to till
but when there is a way, there is also a will.

So can mere Will keep away the crop-eating Gnu?
The farmer would find out and do what he must do.
The heavily calloused foot was now in the other shoe
and all he could see was the chance to start anew.

Starting over is why he was here on the endless plain.
Here far from his home where it never seemed to rain.
He was a man with raw courage flowing in every vein.
A man who'd started over many times before and now again.

The Giraffes marched in slow order to the beat of a drum
that they had been listening to for millenia and that some
say all of life on earth actually heard but were dumb
to its calling and had ignored it since man grew the thumb.

The farmer sat on his haunches thinking and thinking more.
Finally, he had decided what he must do down to his core
and, standing, he walked purposefully as if through a door.
He left behind him his walking stick and most that he wore.

Wildebeasts were running in their huge heard but he saw not.
He was one-mindedly seeking that source of life out, sought
that which man had always needed along with fire.  He fought
through his fatigue and stopped to eat the prey he had caught.

He settled down for the night here on the great plain of life.
As soon as he found water, he would mark the spot with his knife.
Then he would return home and retrieve his children and his wife.
They would make it, even though existence here was full of strife.

His lovely wife, skin so light, hair so straight, eyes so big,
would be his constant help-mate and be the one who would dig
the foundation for their new home while he hunted for some fig,
the main non-meat source of food here.  This was his new gig.

To provide game for his family as they in turn did their part
and turned their new house into a home, making a new start
out here in Nature's showcase.  To survive here was an art,
ancient and proven.  He had left behind his things in his cart.

They would be safe out here in the middle of nowhere.  He slept.
Morning arrived and, in the low angled light, he sat up and wept.
Wept for his family who was starving.  He had to watch where he stepped
for every spot out here was full of danger.  His spear he had kept.

After a brief repast, he continued his journey when suddenly he came upon
his goal, his dream, his every need!  There in a valley under a Banyon
was a thin stream of water, clear and clean.  Shining in the light of dawn.
Miraculous his find was.  So ideal in all aspects.  He had won!

He sat about to mark off his new plot of land and called it his own.
Now he would go back home and make love to his wife who would moan
and then pack their meager lot of things.  They were not alone.
Relatives would come as well.  By end of Spring seeds would be sown.

His thoughts were all about his wife now.  She was a ravishing beauty.
For her and for his children he would make this work and do his duty.
He saw her naked form bent over the fire while making his tepid tea
from some old leaves.  They would make a new life here far from the sea.

The sea where he had first met her.  Maybe that explained her appearance.
He had seen her from a distance and instantly in love he took a chance.
He introduced himself and they got along famously, she loved to dance.
Soon, they married and then started their long and passionate romance.

She would follow him to the ends of the Earth, this he knew for sure.
Strong she was and built for bearing children.  Hardships she would endure.
All for him!  What had he done to deserve her?  She for him was his cure.
The cure for all that weighed on him mind.  They would not always be poor!

No, now that he had found paradise, he would make sure they would succeed.
He then started back for home to fetch his family and his store of seed.
Life had turned the corner finally for them, now he could easily feed
them.  His weeks on the plains had yielded a new chance for life indeed!

The plains when properly irrigated would yield bumper crops and sustain them.
They were huge and daunting, but, in certain places and at certain times, a gem.
His footsteps headed now back to his cart.  On his way, he composed a poem.
He would read it to his loving wife, and she would take away every problem.

Still far off, he spied a pack of Hyenas.  Rabid they seemed.  He readied his spear...

mindbringer, 12 July 2015