of his wonderful poems i would like to introduce to you lynn hamilton and he's the poet that i was mentioning so maybe you would like to do you want to tell us a little something about yourself and then when i was on the farm for about twenty years sold the farm in ninety seven and got started writing poetry i was on the farm so a lot of these especially the the scenic ones i go back to the farm and  when did you start writing them when you were on the farm you know i start about nine hundred ninety when i was on the farm and his saw first palm was written to a eight year old it was over on our farm his father brought him over his father drove the truck and we were going back to get the cattle and the later on he looks up through the window any sees the moon it's out about ten o'clock in the morning and he says will where does the moon go so then i wrote this p had some interest in poetry when i was in college and it sort of kicked in later in life you know that why do you write i mean to express yourself for well it's you sort of have to do as you practice anything it gets better what i guess that's the risk originally what started me off you know i just sort of felt i had to do it you know so do you have a favorite poem or read the all your favorite where does the moon go where does the full moon go when his body does not show does he fall behind a tree when he's not shining down on me or does he go into the lake every evening then to awake and march again across the sky shining yellow bright and high where does the full moon go when he no longer lights the snow does he run with the wolf alone on a mountain far from home or does he go round and round the sea and come back shining wet and free or maybe he just goes to sleep when the morning light begins to sweep all the shades of night away as you and i begin our day i doubt that we will ever know just where that old man moon does go shining silent and serene clear and cold and crisp and clean running with the wolf and deer high on the mountain every year now if you come upon his tent let me know just where he went as it shines upon the cold sea flow and guides the gray whales as they blow or if you catch him by the hand let me know just where is his old moon land and why we see him in the night giving lovers his birds begin to sing whenever his crow does ring from the valley to the hill his cock a doodle doo is surreal a little wrister puffed with pride takes credit that the night has died and struts like a bird of prey before the morning every day this little chicken has no shame he thinks he began the game and he has small regard for the others in the chicken yard for without his sterling cry the night would live then never die as this rooster struts about the lights of all the stars go out and right before the sun his lips this feathered aries has a fit before the east is light when the stars are not so bright he comes with a trumpet in his throat to proclaim to proclaim his lofty note and from this a bitch will show his reputation starts to grow far above his monday and station he becomes the herald of creation instead of just a chicken dinner he's regarded as a winner instead of the king of barnyard tramp's he's the leader of the mornings lamps there is no competition for his title and his regime reign is firm and vital for who would herald in the day if this chicken went away in shrine by the holy word this little chickens note was heard the night the savior was denied when st peter lied and lied there is no room there is no one of morrow now no be a horse or cattle or hound he is an english king when you hear his trumpet ring before the sun is quite awake and all creation needs a shake he's the herald of the dawn when evening comes his call is gone as if he knew just when to crow to make his reputation grow he does not crow at full moon rise or when the stars are in arise but always saves his soft to cry right before the dawn is not i know wolf but the moon  but a cock has nothing much to say as if he came to realize the morning herald get surprise of crowing cocks and how they think i have no more sense or in but if you find the reason why let me know before i  died this third children's one was a case of the calico cat i had a friend who had a cat and they got involved with the court system and it seems the cat was sick and the vet didn't cure it so they had to go to court to settle settle the matter so i wrote upon the case of the calico cat once upon a time there sat a judge before the calico cat the judge was not lane but fat briefs were traded that for tat and a smile was on the calico cat the case came to where the jury sat in the doctor's versus the calico cat bra retreated to for tapped but a smile was on the calico cat the law was out to get this cat to make him lower than a rat to take him down upon the map but a smile was on the calico cat like rows of corn the lawyers sat fine motions like a bureaucrat their hostile words came rat a tat tat but a smile was on the calico cat the jury funny began to chat about the fate of the calico cat but the charges all fell short and flat and there was a smile on the calico cat and when the verdict came to end this  and my son when he was growing up he a dog and a little hunting dog called heidi so we wrote a poem about heidi i have i have a dog named heidi i love to see her flee deep out in the snow draft with floppy ears so free she's such a happy doggie she gives me quite a lift and all the kids should be this happy and have such a joyful gift she likes to hunt the rabbits her nose close to the ground although it's not a habit a circle around and in and out they play their play and capers free if ever she did have a care it did not show up on her face she just romped with puppy stare and hid behind a tree with grace then she came and when she came into the room she plays and pulls a rag she's as funny as alone and she gives her tail wag in the field up on the trail of a rabbit running fast she gives out with a whale or how a hollow blast it sends the shivers up my back to hear her on the track it's the sweetest music that i know as i hear her howl and see her go she around that rabbit around and around with a and i shot it as my gun did sound then brought it down real quick turning home from the field that day she never ceased to play as if the world were made to see her capers played and sometimes you get to writing about poetry so we have several about that i wrote a song about the country which pretty well tells you about me in a country i guess scuse me this throats give me a trouble so i call it a country song my heart is in the country out there behind the tree there's nothing else but country and all the world for me my spirit tends to get real high up where the redhawk likes to fly or sometimes it will go where the purest waters flow other times just before the dawn when all is dark and still i can hear my spirit singing with the lark out on the hill and just one day is dying and i just coming on i can hear my spirit singing another type of song walks along the deer trail and goes beside the dough and sings a happy tale where the evening shadows go and when the snow is blowing and all the trees are white i can see my spirit shining in the winter seen so bright and when the crocus is are creeping and the soil through the soil in the spring my spirit sees the sleeping till the bells of autumn rains and country cliffs and canyons are only equals dare my spirit likes to glide upon the pure thin air there is a freedom in the country which any fool can see and you can have your city because it just ain't for me time we decided we'd write a poem about why we why we do this stuff why we write poetry called it the poets paint i've decided to stop this pain never more to rhyme again my poetry is very trite stuff my family says they've had enough i have trouble hitting shakespeare's mark or measuring up to keats as art or knowing the meaning of time and setting it all down in rhyme i'll turn my pilot's license in go with the fellows and drink some gin my poems are hardly what they wish there is more their type of dish why do these rhymes come so clear every morning in my ear does the muse discern in me something that i cannot see can i read the universe and write it all down in verse can i challenge plato's wri or get the best of shakespeare's wit the answer is quite clear i am no immortal cyr there is little was the more insight in my lines to cut the night yet i am compelled to write this down even though it gets no crown certainly it cannot be for gold because these thoughts will not be sold i just long to write some lines to quote and be a poet of some note but no it's not for fame that i began this little game i love to hear the idiom flow about the country as i go lets my mind and lets me sing as along the road of life i swi and i wrote another when i guess the critics didn't like my poems so i wrote one to the critics a poet i am not i am not of whitman or poe my lines have little force i know and the path less traveled by eludes me no matter how i try i set my words down every one without any scheme or pun hoping that the muse will hip fear my poems won't bring a tear for all the spirits in the sky i fly the coop when i come by there is little promise in my line that it will brave the sands of time my words are lifeless limp and lame my critics say they're all the same i'm like a blind man with his cane out here in the driving rain with no spirit and no juice to let a magic image loose so without an inspiration i thought it was seared terminations watching words fall from my pen just writing words down once again  here's another one to the poets call it a poetic shot i shot a palm into the air it fell to earth i don't know where i don't recall what path it took over w would or not and i see brooke and it was always hard to find if it touched another mind but there was no doubt as it flew away it would inspire another one someday to set ideas free and wild in the imagination of some child to learn what a poem could say and maybe bring a better day and be where you have to be aware of the poet to be aware of the one who sings you a song be aware of the poet who lead you along hold on to your happed and your heart and your mind  kind trust not your innocence your gold or your wife as his couplets cuddle up to your spirit and life his art can often persuade well all others fail and you will be captive to his rhyme and his ta all switch over to the nature palms now this is where i started reading the nature writing nature poems i guess i'll start with the october one which sort of started me on my career this was written sometime back in the ninety's early ninety's i guess i always worshiped october it was such a nice month october has no rival in the year with nice cool days and skies so clear it sunrise is a majestic sight with pinks and blues at dawn's first light it's sunset and wonder to behold with hues of red and blue and gold the morning fog is stick and white as the day breaks from the night when the full moon is high and bright shining on october's night the birds all flock to hurry south afraid of winter's frigid month and the corn stands ready in the row tall and brown and full of show pumpkins big and round and bright covered with the frost each night and apples hanging yellow and red ready for the cider shed the deer all fat and slick with anglers with antlers shining sharp and quick and the oak leaves have fallen down shedding their coat upon the ground while turkey spreads its wings and from his throat gobble rings the red squirrel runs up the tree and chatters down at you and and we have to do one on april and may perhaps april's breeze definitely dills stand row on row swaying softly to and fro in the fine breezes of your day and in the sun on display bring your kiss now to my face and let me see you every place on the for scythia in the lane in your evening what with rain in place your hands on trees and grass and let the power of your rebirth pass to all that lives inland and see to flowers birds and then to me oh a parole you bring such joy there is no rhyme i can employ on another one and another one on the april day shakespear love the april day the warmth of your april day comes to take my cares away to usher in the balmy spring with flowers birds and everything to coax new life from the land along the road on either hand to brighten with a smile every step and every mile i feel your april breeze see it gently sway t feel its warm and soft caress and revel in its loveliness where you spent the winter time when sun and ice were in their prime where you had your pleasant face when the north wind ran his race where you slept out of you i will never question you you are such a welcome guest we have no quarrel or contest just walk and talk and stay forever and a day kiss me with your april rain till i'm happy once again drop your sunbeams on my head  flowers from the dead back and all to come a new fresh life from the morning dew i will never weary or retire from your restoring fire sing your music in my and i wrote one for the first if the it's always usually the most noticeable spring flower there's others but  seen all dark and dreary and very eyes find oh so weary your colors come like a drum saying winter months are common to april's tender soft caress to the color of your loving us for no i can fail to see your banners under every tree every two must be the heart that fails to esteem your art that is not lifted to the sky as he walks or passes by your beauty is painted on the land and breathlessly it does command all the couplets i can pan to sing your praises once you got one on may here we haven't saluted me yet i want to put it my that is called the road to may its starts before me the winter when i wrote this in the ninet it's it's fairly old the winter wind came one day and tossed a snowstorm my way it placed a coat of downing white on everything within my sight it colored all the trees about smothered by evening footprints on and sent the mercury quite low put on a bus tree show the turtle doves and so silence fell in the barnyard by the well and the cattle huddled in the shed with a coat of white upon each had the oak trees branches where aglow every one crowned with snow and the arctic air chilled my feet and every person i did meet and yet my mood was not despair for snow in winter are a pair and they will come and they will pass before the flowers stop the grass and right this side of flowers and frogs the i guess that should finish up you have any questions why they were wonderful i mean you just take things out of the air and to be able to write about them i mean it's just the wonderful gift y subject then you can usually spin one out don't always know just what you're going to say but you know you know the subject you know you can distill into blacks you know yeah so it's wonderful you can fill in the blanks for i really enjoyed your problems and i hope that everybody else enjoyed them also and i thank you for having me it was wonderful having you here and thank you very very much  and i'm sure everybody else will just love all your writings and keep up the good work and that's ok yeah well let me know presented feedback well i will do that and read really nice that's where you get the full benefit of it well it's wonderful how you can just one sentence and then the next sentence just rhymes with that sentence i mean there are wonderful gift it really is a time has come to bless the land with sweet wind and gentle hand her days are much too swift and few for the many things we have to do her lazy days will light her path with flowers buds and little raft went on to work and linger at her side in the sunshine of the countryside her diaries are filled with ecstasy the time love a time when love goes merrily about the meadow and the lane through the fragments of the rain until the day comes when we say sadly it's the end of may but we have about another minute or so if you'd like to read another poem that would be fine ok we will sing you a song here called my song i will sing a song to you as gentle as the morning sclera as any bell could be as majestic as a mountain tree it will leap with harmony like a mozart symphony and ring with more mel than any tune from memory a song like a bird would sing with a fine melodic ring a song as pure as soft sunshine to tingle up and down your spine  life and glee sweeter than a symphony and softer than a night in june shining underneath the mound a song to carry in your heart to own your sorrows fade in part song like an on before a timeless tune for evermore a song to carry you along through rain and snow and right and wrong to bring you to the other side where the bliss and cheer abide and when you have the song to sing happiness will be your thing and sorrow will never get your goat while you sing the song i wrote well thanks again very much and i'm sure that you have brightened up somebody's day when they hear these  have somebody that has your talent i mean it's you don't run across too many people like that so thanks again and enjoy yourself and have a wonderful right s