Poll: ...
Poll Options
View poll results: ...
3 75%
1 25%
0 0%
Voters: 4.
Iowa, I Inferred You

Red mixed deep into the soil,
Orange swept, hot, into the soil,
Yellow bound tight, down in the soil,
Green tangled and merged in with the soil,
Blue poured, sopping, into the soil,
Indigo sprinkled over
And topped with a heavy violet sheet of wind;
For about a week the farmers tilled the Autumn ground,
Until happy giggles replaced the usual silent sunrise sound, and
Broke through the dewey turning leaves-
For about a week the farmers tilled the Massachusetts ground,
Until happy giggles replaced the usual still sunrise sound,
Until, from the early November dirt, you rose,
brimming, dripping, exfoliating,


I once knew a girl named autumn.
We fell in love as easily as the leaves of a tree in fall.
We rolled in the grass for hours staining our jeans.
Living our dreams.
Thoughts of not being with eachother never once crossed our minds.
But that all changed with one night filled with bottles of wine.
It was ten o'clock on the last day of fall.
Our clothes dropped as easily as leaves of a tree in autumn.
The night left us hungover wondering what happened.
Things changed and just as easily as we fell in love, we fell out.


It’s easy when the weather’s nice,
And Mother Nature has no vice.
Every plant; each leaf and bloom
Flourishing in the sun without gloom.
But the as days grow shorter and the nights colder;
Mother Nature grows much bolder.
Some of the foliage begins to crumble;
The bite of the cold makes them tumble.
Yet other leaves enter their prime,
Insisting they best the other vines.
Bursting hues of red and yellow,
gaining glory while the others simply mellow.
Eventually, though, they too fade to brown,
Meet their fate and plummet down.
Once so proud and brilliant
Now proof they’re no more resilient.

Old Man Winter is aloof;
His frosty winds blow away the proof.
The once bright leaves now meld with the masses
More alike as each day passes.
Soon Mother Nature ends her cranky fit
And the sun comes out of its lazy pit.
The flora comes alive with buds so tender;
And everything blooms with great splendor.
The cycle will continue is everlasting
For the masses are always contrasting.
But those who are snooty should remember:
Everyone’s equal come November.
Filth, pure filth... That's what you are.