Behind the Grindstone

It’s interesting to watch as our society deals with their so called social issues. It seems the more they struggle to become what they are not the more they become what they are.

There’s love for the prairie
And love on the prairie as well
It’s a love story on the prairie
This love story that we tell

They acted like newlyweds
Though they’d been married forty years
They’d hung onto each other
Through the laughter and the tears

Time has passed—The clock has ticked
We’re starting a year brand new

The old man and his grandson
Sittin’ in a reclinin’ chair
A place of close contentment
They spent time together there

The night is dark— as the herders sleep
Trusting in—the dogs to keep

The old man settin’ there on the porch
His hair and mustache white
The young man with a pencil and pad
Lookin’ for a story to write

Well, we are comin’ up on the day that has made November famous. Thanksgiving.

It seems in today’s world no one wants to pull their own weight or haul their own freight. Instead of draggin’ their own wagon they hitch their team to the wagon that’s movin’ fastest.

Well, here we go again. In the midst of having to change the offensive names of school mascots, logos, mountains, towns, creeks and the list goes on and on we now are at risk of contacting another virus.

Jake was an old-time cowboy. A through back from the olden days.

It seems our Climate Change Crisis may be itself facing a crisis. The headlines read “New Message to Aliens will Reflect an Earth in Danger of Climate Crisis.

Here on the prairie in what I reckon is known as rural America, where day to day decisions are made affecting life and livelihood based on common sense, it seems much of society has gone insane. I wrote this poem and it was published several years ago but it seems more relevant as time goes on.

Covid. That’s about all you hear about in the news.

The bunkhouse was full
‘Cause the trail was snowed in
Things were right tense
And patience ran thin

He was old and he was scrawny
His beard was turnin’ gray
Few there were who would listen
To what Pops had to say