A poem in rhyming couplets ( I think )

The chicken farmer almost cried
when his last good rooster died

Without a cock to breed his hens
he'd go broke and lose his friends

So he called ROOSTERS- R- US
but their reply just made him cuss

They had just sold their last one
to his cousin's nephew's son

What the heck was he to do
without a bird to see him through ?

After much worry and thought
he said, "The farmers' jockey lot !".....................(an outdoor flea market)

The morning's cold as long lost love
as I sit here in these winter woods
surrounded by a snow white frost
mind haunted by the shoulds and coulds.

A last star freezes from the sky
as dawn turns slowly into day.
Worries rage no matter how I try,
I start to leave... decide to stay.

The only motion in this frozen world
is my fogging and then freezing breath
which writhes like some pale flag unfurled
surrendering to autumn's death.

Mid summer bakes the crispy pines
and stills the deep dark hardwood hollows
as deer quickly acrue their tines.
Evenings are filled by darting swallows.

Here where The South came to its end,
where life moves at a slower pace,
all of the locals still pretend
that Abbeville holds naught but grace.

They act as if he is not there.
They shrug off those gone missing in the fall.
It's almost as if they don't care.
Until the autumn's leaves begin to fall.

Sitting here with pen in hand
with hopes of writing something grand
that future readers might remember
in a future's drab December

I search for a substantial topic
universal, not myopic
something not already written
that might leave just one person smitten

Maybe I could write a poem that's funny
to turn a disposition sunny
but ideas for writing humor
seem to be just distant rumor

A sworded conception
Doomed from the start
Your love was too strong

Lurid in its direction
Just a diversion in your mind
Yet blindly I went on

When you left
my life shattered into Infinity,
couldn't breathe without you

(chorus)
Ignite a carnal resurrection
Let me live again
Breathe

I am hanging on,
asphyxiating, on raw emotion.
Restore my voice.

Passion is my affliction
A terrible addiction
My drug of choice

The wind is gusty, rain is cold
and falling down in sheets.
Staying home bound's getting old
( I tire of eating snacks and sweets. )

I usually love the leafless trees
but not on days so wet and dreary,
even the wildlife all agrees
of clouds and cold they're also weary.

But it's warm and dry inside.
I think I'll light a cheery fire
to chase the chill from my child bride.
perhaps to kindle new desire ?

I have prayed, before
and got a positive response
but then, much to my dismay;

I found my wish
for peaceful bliss,
won't be turning out that way.

Expect too much,
dissappointment will be your crutch,
the rays of regret will rain until your face gets burned,

because it all adds up
to another empty cup,
and just another lesson to be learned.

What I'm goin' through
is a kind of healing time
for both my broken heart, and head;

One poem, three different forms

Western Classic

Two suns circling out in space
seen so many times by Hubble,
locked in gravity's embrace
without planets or other rubble.

Some so close they exchange mass
each thus gaining from the other
as their shared times slowly pass;
never alone, they've one another.

We have a love which is binary.
Where does one begin, the other start ?
Envied by all those, ordinary,
we two who love and stand apart.

Come, lets sit here on the sand
of this impoundment's shore.
The gulls and geese can be our band,
who could ask for any more ?

We'll set our chairs on water's edge
and in cool water dip our feet,
watch boats troll for catfish past the ledge
in, this the last of summer's heat.

As we recline on eastern side
the evening air so slowly cools;
sun's reflection from the water, wide
covers surface with rhinestone jewels.

Untried dreams we now regret
( we'll do it later, just not yet )
Perhaps a message t'was not taken
led to another's poor heart breakin'

Had ink never flowed out of this pen
this poem would neither start nor end
maybe we'd sleep well at night
had we not begun to write

Untaken roads, choices not made
debts forgiven and repaid
a decision made or one we shirk
a word that does or doesn't work