Well actually, Jerry, I’m no longer married;
I’m divorced and struggling… sometimes harried.
I do hate to think that I was complaining
and thank you for finding me so entertaining…

Oh Jerry, I guess I was pining for something
more meaningful… something inviting
to sit with and ponder… to make me re-wonder
the life that we have… I don’t want to blunder
through it… why is the grass always greener?

The grass may be greener
because there's more seed there,
but often it's only
because the dog peed there.

I went to the club
They gave me the hubub
I went and sat on the grass
And I discovered my ass
Was as green as a plum
A little different, come
See what you can do
The grass is green because I poo

The grass is not always greener
I see that… from time to time…
behind a pleasant demeanor
the yellows are often sublime…

I haven’t grass in my garden…
I haven’t a garden at all…
If so, would I think it a burden?
Don’t let it be Farecy’s call…

Zita's Sonnet


Is our neighbor’s grass truly greener? Perhaps it’s a twist
of light: like an aging magician’s flick of the wrist
time tints our yellowed dreams with faded blue,
thus overcoming the rose colored lenses of youth.
It might be our failing vision: all that exists
beyond our fence is blurry, and so resists
our attempts to see the patches that are rough;
or maybe we just don’t look close enough.

It may just be we waste so much of time
examining our own lawn’s flaws; so we find
every single spot of death, and ignore
the multititude of colors we knew before.
We never hear the discontented sigh
as our neighbor admires the way our grasses lie.




[This message has been edited by Jerry Glenn Hartwig (edited October 16, 2004).]

And when we see our neighbor’s grass is leaner,
do we not recognize we have too much?
I cannot help but think we are too eager;
we thrive on it and use it as a crutch.
Awareness isn’t found in one container,
yet all containers pass from hand to hand
transforming each into his own portrayer.
Is gratitude so hard to understand?

It may just be we have so little time
to think of where to seed and where to mow;
if every spot of life were thought as prime,
and every valley met with each plateau
and all we know would be just what it was
as perfect as the grass is… just because…

How much we have is really not the case,
but do we recognize just what we’ve got?
Shall we commiserate, and nightly pace
the floor, and stress our hearts with worry, not
about the needs of body, mind and soul,
but whether we have the things our neighbor does?
Shall we sit around and stare inside our bowl
and bemoan the fact we’ve now a little less?

Rather, let’s celebrate the fortunes that
surround us, while cherishing our memory
of richer times. Don’t covet the neighbor’s fat
purse, or lust upon his greenery;
yet if, perchance, our neighbor’s bowl is bare,
then shall we not divide our ‘haves’, and share?


Good night...


[This message has been edited by Jerry Glenn Hartwig (edited October 16, 2004).]

While ya’ll is all a talkin’,
The food is gettin’ cold.
The plates is pilin’ high,
And I ain’t yet been told

Who the heck is gunna
Be the one to wash
All these dadgum dishes.
And, don’t say ME by gosh!

But who is going to dry?
Not I!

Well I'll be derned
if it aint
Edmund C the lerned.
Ya'll don't faint!
We just caint
be swoonin' like a daisy,
actin' like we's crazy.
Get up Margeret Anne
we got us a guest on hand.
Here you are, Edmund C
Edmund C for Conti
Does you like Delmonti?
Forget them dishes for right now.
All I wanna know is how,
How do you like Delmonti?