Always at Christmas

 

Holiday Fruit Cake

 Holiday Fruit Cake

2 cups flour

1 ½ cups sugar 

½ lb (2 sticks butter)

5 room temp eggs 

¾  tsp. Baking powder 

½ tsp. Salt 

½  tsp. Nutmeg 

¼  tsp cardamom 

1 tsp. Vanilla extract 

½  lb. Pecans (toasted)

½  lb. Walnuts (toasted)

½  lb dried cranberries (soaked in brandy)

1 lbs candied fruit (soaked in brandy)

Soak the dried cranberries and candied mix fruit overnight in brandy. Drain before using.

Toast pecan and walnut pieces on an ungreased cookie sheet for 15 minutes at 300 degrees.

Use whatever dried fruits and nuts that you want. You can also substitute rum, bourbon or wine for soaking. Use what ingredients you like!

Bake at 300 degrees and check after 

90 minutes. Top should be browned 

and an inserted toothpick should come

out clean.

Let cool and remove from pans after 15 minutes. 

Soak with brandy, wrap tightly with 

plastic wrap and foil. You can apply more brandy every 5 to 6 days until serving.

Store in a cool dry place. 

Contemplating The Darkness

 

Contemplating The Darkness

The night smells of wetness 

And pungent decay as I walk 

Lightly on these ancient boards.

So many summers have passed. 

At the end of the dock, I stare 

Into the darkness. 

Frogs peep in the reedy shallows. 

Long necked grebes call across 

The flatness of water. 

The air seems to rise from it's depths. 

Cool and rich with aquatic perfumes.

Lily pads, tadpoles, sunfish and worms.

The essence of the earth, the water and sand. 

Arching my neck to look up,

The completeness of space stretches

Beyond my feeble view. 

I look between the stars 

And hope to see forever. 

The celestial world is above me, 

The aquatic world is below.

Breathing in the solitude and 

Closing my eyes. 

The loon has remembered 

To call me home. 

Collected Poems

 

Crickets in the Field 

Deep inside the fragrance 

    of summer warmed 

           prairie wildflowers 

                             lies a quiet 

                pulsating voice.

Beneath the blazing star 

               and the prairie smoke. 

Amongst the floodman's thistle 

               and the blanket flower. 

Huddled next to lead plants, 

         crawling through the sage.

It's voice is nestled beside 

                  the honey bees hum. 

A part of the music of 

                          the vast 

                                 open plains. 

The constant rhythm of 

               an ancient song

                       that was written 

                            on the prairie wind.

Sometimes they are forgotten,

                  but they are always there. 

Feel the Sun 

I close my eyes to all I have seen. 

      To all that I know. 

             To all that I will ever see.

I close my eyes to 

       feel the sun gently 

                          shine on my face. 

Leaning back in my chair. 

        Feel it tingle against 

                       my time worn skin. 

It traces each line that I've 

       grown through life. 

            Every smile and every tear. 

It filters to my eyes 

       in colors of orange and red. 

                 Breezes caress my brow.

I am at peace 

         as I listen to birdsong. 

                   I let the sun gently 

                            shine on my face. 

Tomorrow's Rain 

Rolling flatness expands 

Beyond our view. 

Sprawling expanses 

                 of level ground.

Glacial stones 

       are scattered like 

          souvenirs…

               left along the way.

Miles of tall grasses once 

     raced to the horizon 

           in search of 

               tomorrow's rain. 

Grasses and roots 

            kept everything 

                                together. 

Breaking the sod was 

             the beginning of 

                                 the end.

But there still are 

        scattered pieces of the 

                unbroken prairie left. 

Forgotten fragments left 

     unremembered beneath 

               the sacred unending sky. 

They smell of sweet grasses, 

                honey flowers and 

                                  summer days. 

They all resound with crickets, 

                the sigh of the wind and 

                                  meadowlarks. 

                          

Mornings Twilight 

Morning before the sunrise. 

                  Drenched in lilac 

                         and wet grass.

Late spring trees pulse 

                with the promise of

                       new beginnings.

They are softly silhouetted 

        against the blue and grey 

                               muted sky.

The day is still emerging with

           the choir of robins and 

                the chatter of wrens.

The stillness of the morning 

                     twilight infuses 

                      the atmosphere.

But words are futile and 

                             lacking in 

                                     grace.

The Unreachable Horizon 

The sky expands into 

                the openness of an 

                              unreachable horizon. 

The color of the atmosphere 

                                     is cerulean blue.

It fades into the softness 

                               of distance and time.

It holds the vast prairie 

                                 down into flatness.

It's massive abundance 

                                   is all you can see. 

Some places are defined 

                        by mountains and forests. 

Mammoth steel buildings 

                        block the light of the sun.

Here the unbroken sky 

                     looms above like an ocean. 

It will swallow up those 

                              who are unable to fly. 

Futile words describe it.

                  Something you feel 

                            more than you can see. 

People of the prairie 

              are easy to find…

                     their eyes are always 

                                        looking up

                                                 to the sky. 

May Days 

The open window breathes 

the cool, lilac scented 

breezes into my 

sleeping 

mind. 

It's pungent smell lingers 

sweetly inside me 

as it awakens 

forgotten 

dreams. 

Yellow dandelions gather 

across the fields 

where children 

would often 

scatter.

Their long ago, gleeful 

laughter about when 

mama's baby 

lost her 

head.

Bitter stalks of rhubarb 

being dunked 

into sticky 

sugar 

cups. 

Found growing along 

the alley behind 

old neighbors 

forgotten 

yards.

A Morning in June 

Layers of gray swirl into 

Billowing white below 

The blue and troubled sky. 

The atmosphere boils,

Unsettled and heavy. 

Clouds thicken and rise. 

Moisture is everywhere. 

Saturating every breath 

It begins to expand. 

The morning stirs 

On a slow moving breeze. 

A murder of crows gathers near.

The sky has turned dark. 

Feeling unstable 

And ready for rain. 

Sparklers 

The summer day mellows 

Into evening. 

It's colors ripening into 

Shades of orange, 

Purple and 

Red.

Soon the darkness splits 

Into whistling sparks 

Of fragmented colors.

Followed by an echoing 

Thunderous 

Boom!!

Sulphur scented sunsets 

Erupt in early July. 

Boxes of Chinese 

Artillery appear in 

My neighbors 

Backyard. 

The air begins to crackle 

As rockets twist 

And scream.

The sky reaches 

A crescendo of 

Red, white and blue. 

Pieces of Summer 

The last sliver of light barely rests below

The horizon. 

Summer's twilight 

Lingers silently to the west. 

Day is done. 

The loons call out their haunted song. 

Nighthawks twist amongst 

The mosquitoes and stars.

Voices are hushed,

Day is done. 

                   

             

               

                 

Cottonwoods and Weeds

 

Cottonwoods and Weeds 

Endlessly blue.

The sky crosses the 

Vastness of everything. 

Butter golden fields 

Surround the old 

Defeated farm place.

Buried in the 

Cottonwoods,

Staying silent 

Amongst 

The weeds. 

Green faded shutters 

Hanging by one nail 

Gently swing.

Cracked clapboard siding 

With chalky white paint. 

You were once the 

Stalwart of the prairie. 

A solid built foursquare 

Laughing quietly at 

The elements

Of weather…

The elements 

Of time. 

Hard times have fallen.

Abandonment litters 

The broken landscape. 

Islands of trees look 

Alien against flat 

Prairie horizons. 

They become part of 

The history. 

Hidden monuments of 

The settlers who passed. 

Asleep in the shadows 

Of the cottonwood trees. 

Wind Outside the Window

 Wind Outside the Window 

The house just shuddered…

Constant roaring attacking 

The windows. 

Causing them to creak 

                             and shriek. 

Oh the moaning through the 

Slightly cracked opened 

Windows.         Howling as if 

It's soul had been tortured 

                               and stolen. 

          Searching for sanctuary. 

Headlong sweeping gusts of air.

The wind has no need 

                                    to subside.

It ravages the rooftops, 

      screams against the sidewalk,

               racing through the trees. 

Nature voices It's fury

                   inside the angry wind.