Love is
love is love.

Unrequited
until Manifest.

In thrall, or action.

Dreamed in absence.
Steeped in Presence.

In quietude and reflection.

In wildest Nature.
In passion.

In prayer, in wish and shared
Reaction.

Benediction. Heated,
heartfelt blessings.

In acceptance
genuflecting.

In giving;

In this dimension,

On steaming Earth,

and in Heaven:

Love is
Love is

Cornfields
By Beth Haist (a poem after meeting a ex- diary farmer on my walk the other day) and my usual routine of feeding the birds-

Perfection out there
A day bright with imaginings-

Yet too much corn filler
In the bird seed again

That even the sparrows reject-

I am in the land o’ plenty
Where we are paid
Not to harvest
She said

Showing me an angry 73 year old face-
Brown and lean with work
She is driven by inner combustion now-

No more crack of dawn finger pulls-

At the dairy cows
She hated as a kid-
The stench never rinsed out,

Just in between
Chains-
Cattle grown to
Throw in
Semi-trucks –

Built with waffle sized air holes
For maximum life-

So you can eat your

Garlic butter
Steak bites

In peace.