Standing in the neat field here
by Joseph M. Donatelli
out behind the garden tool shed where
I watch Mars rising red without fear
from gray shadows of earth a sleep in bed
Mars floats above my wondering head.
I loved green Fields yes, but I'm killed dead.
Imagine standing on an iron out cropping
above a sandy shore without a salty sea
watching yellow ochre poring in to red
and the flowing of the brown tones.
shadowing the oxide stones profoundly formed
by silicate abrasion friction storms.
Repeatedly I'm informed, I upset everyone's norm.
There is no room left on this planet for me-
Its a sorry fact for them the losers I mean.
My wife, my family, my friends, misunderstand
and resent my emotional health, my independent self,
they expend themselves trying to hold my spirit down.
I repeat, no word, no sign to guide them
as they wander weave and wind
through this simple maze of life
and lose themselves in wasted time.
I'm set to mindless gardening again this spring
Mars is very much on my murdered mind.
Each time I set up a brand new try
I get an emotional battering to confuse my sign.
I guess I've worn my welcome out.
They are so fascinated by what I'm about,
yet they interfere, berate me, why, why?
No one tries as hard as I -