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.

                       

Winter's Atmosphere

 

Winter's Atmosphere 

Tasting snow on the 

December air.  

Feeling soft crystals 

That linger on 

Wind cherried cheeks. 

Walking alone into 

The winter praising 

Snowfall.

Thinking of 

Dylan Thomas…

Mesmerized by winter's 

Head shaking, 

Snow covered 

Atmosphere. 

Flakes steadily fall

Through the hushed 

Afternoon. 

Hazy, snow globed images 

Are following footsteps 

Around the snow 

Swallowed day. 

Oak trees arch over 

White covered 

Sidewalks.

Gnarled cruel branches 

Make twisted patterns 

Across the sky. 

Everything is silenced,

The house lights begin 

To glow.

Time to turn around 

And begin the 

Long climb 

Home. 

Ice Out

Ice Out

The ice turns black with 

Broken crystals 

Web like cracks spider 

Across the fragile 

Dark surface.

                  Shrinking 

          From the 

Shoreline. 

The sulfur smell of stained water. 

Churning through the 

Black 

Thick bottom.

Disturbing 

         What lies 

                      beneath 

         

Shimmering like 

                   broken glass.

Dissolving overnight in 

                         a silent 

            April zephyr.

Gathering by the water,

           putting in 

                        the dock.

The Open Window

 

The Open Window 

I sat there…

            Unaware of the 

Open window. 

So involved in the 

Useless interference 

Of my private 

Thoughts,

I ignored the presence 

                                of life.

Then I became aware.

Not so much by

                 a sound…

                       but a sensation. 

An unforgettable 

                        memory.

An internal reminder 

                    of the changing 

                                     season. 

A single voice so distant 

                that it seemed as if 

                                 in a dream.

The lilting evening song 

                 of the immigrant

                                spring robin.

It had returned to remind 

                  me that beauty 

                                   still exists.

Forgotten Towns

 Forgotten Towns 

Straight rows of aging buildings 

Display their dusty grandeur.

The prosperity of the 

Past is well hidden 

Behind plywood 

Covered store 

Fronts and 

Battered 

Faded 

Signs. 

Idealistic named streets…

Atlantic, 

Pacific,

Main,

Are now mostly 

Abandoned. 

Gray stoic grain elevators 

Tower over forgotten 

Railway tracks,

Still echoing 

Of far 

Away 

Whistles.

You can see clearly from 

One end to the other. 

Never ceasing prairie 

winds drive the 

Dust deep into 

The cracked 

Pavement.

The town sits

Silhouetted 

In black against 

The tired 

Prairie sunset. 

Starting to Create

 

Starting to Create 

Searching for 

           extraordinary 

                       words. 

Piecing together the 

Eloquence of

Language.

Words 

          can be hard to 

Come by 

While others never 

                   seem to 

                           stop.

Words can be endless. 

Creating with 

           words,

                 notes or

                      visions.

Possibilities are 

Endless. 

Inspiration is 

Fleeting. 

When to follow 

        the perfect 

             muse.

            

Haiku Collection Four (Seasons)

 

Haiku Collection Four 

(Seasons)

Just a slight promise. 

Spring hides amongst the snow drifts.

Yellow crocus blooms.

Spring smells thick with mud. 

Rain gutters steadily drip.

Winter keeps quiet. 

Sliding into June.

Sunset across still water. 

It sparkles and smiles. 

Summer is like wine.

Summer intoxicates you. 

Sunsets make you drunk. 

Ablaze in maple fire. 

Autumn skies vibrate deep blue. 

Orange against the blue. 

Stay close to the fire. 

Autumn is scented with smoke. 

It stays within you. 

Pine trees painted white. 

Glow with artificial lights.

This is the season. 

Gray clouds hang heavy. 

Snow steadily falls to earth. 

Feel it on your tongue. 

"Everything"

 Everything 

Searching for solace.

The disintegration of 

Everything appears 

                       on the horizon.

Everything 

No longer exists

                 the way it once did.

You have gone.

Now I struggling with 

Everything.

Feel like I'm starving. 

Wanting to consume

Everything. 

Betrayed by hunger.

The hunger is for 

Everything.

No longer satisfied.

                 Left feeling empty. 

Empty of 

Everything.

Now here in the darkness.

                Being afraid of 

Everything. 

                Afraid of losing 

Everything. 

But everything is 

                already gone.

Writing down these words 

I realize 

          I know 

                   nothing. 

Haiku Collection Three

 

Haiku Collection Three 

(Winter)

Ice refracts the sky. 

The depth of winter's pure blue

Shimmers against it. 

Immersed in snow fall. 

An afternoon of stillness. 

Covering the ground. 

December brings joy. 

Lost in winter's vast glory. 

Had enough by March. 

Ice crystals dancing. 

Sifting through the dark branches. 

Silence all around. 

Listen to the snow. 

Subtle in the atmosphere. 

Steadily falling. 

Needing winter's rest.

Time has become suspended. 

I'm hibernating. 

Ice is reflective. 

Crystals shine in the evening. 

Yellow turns to red.

Cut across the ice. 

Sharpened blades slash in the sun.

Gliding on the pond.