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.
