Jesse Swedlund Poems

You stand at the trailhead, a new trip to depart,
And the trees seem to march to the beat of your wild heart
Down a winding trail, a river, stream, or shore,
You wonder what lies behind this adventure's door.
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He is the bearded man,
Made of myth and legend.
With tools of ax and saw and brawn,
He labors the reverse of dusk to dawn.
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</>Our friendship began on a field of green,
As rivals we met, with a clash, a bang,
A tampoline and pool, just livin’ the dream,
Summer turned us into a two‐ man gang,
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Suppose you had two pairs of shoes,
One wet, one dry, you must choose.
The wet shoes get wet and wet they'll stay,
The dry shoes stay dry, all through the day.
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The earth is the last painting this artist
Will stroke, with a tender flick of my wrist
She comes to life. Each day humanity
Strays further away; Christianity
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</>I walk into the meeting and sit down,
Trying not to be seen.
I feel ashamed to be here,
But I know I have a problem.
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</>A bubble floats,
Will pass on by,
The cows and goats
Begin to cry.
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