Deepening

You wore your hair on an unwritten novel
That was bound with your daily drawl
Mixed among the thunderstorms
Of a lonely prairie home.
Cows were milked twice a day
And dust blew into your eyes
Leaving streaks running diagonal
Across your rosy cheeks
With an agonizing look
You had long put on
Prepared for deepening silence.

A memory was your novel
That got caught up finding new verbs
For the same things you’d always done
And your hands that worked
In daily grind
With suds and lemonade
Looked increasingly like
They were forming to the job.

Why did you watch the horizon
Each day around two or three?
As dust had settled from morning’s fury
“In time for tea,” you’d say,
The milk cow, knowing nothing more
Chewed and watched you at your chore
No thought did cross it’s mind.

So sad did the lesson grow
A mind lost of ten thousand reasons
Thunderstorm in Sun’s sweet blessing
If it was not you, save pray for more
So today will sing of tomorrow
A song you knew intuitively
As cow’s milk begun to pour
And dust blew through your hair.

Forgiveth

I am moody
I’m the gravel inspiration
Of a moonlit breath
Standing naked against
Each whispering hallow
Deep within consciousness,
Though cackles be heard.
And here I stand,
Abreast the fight
Holding a heartache
That’s dazed
But still conscious
With an armful
Of medicine
Tunneling out the holes
I havent made time
To mend yet.
Oh, how art forgiveth.
How loose
Can these boundaries be?
How can thy closing eyes
Retreat once into dream
Twice into heavens,
With hardly a thread
Seperating this moment
And to their’s.

Starlit Frost

Night holds grace
A wish was ever grown upon
In elegance and composure
Stillness of such starlight.
From cassiopeia to Jupiter
Horizon stretches in silhouette
Basking lay each frosty blade
Of grass now nearing frozen.
Faint rustling of thou distant river
Blends its course with swaying poplars
Amidst comes forth a lone coyote call
Right below Polaris’s mark.

Ode to Goldenrod

What is your weather?

So delicate and sure
Sentinal of harvest.
What once glowed gold
Now delicately so tender,
Brown and wilted;
Seeds like rain
Fall from your mane
In one breath of wind
Shaken your stand.

Of all the ancient history
Stored in your very seed,
How does each season
Keep bringing you to me?
So that our fields can grow
Yellow in the fond sun,
So that our vase can be
Filled up with royal thee.

Goldenrod in Autumn

Seasons

My main emblems
Have begun to fade
Into a soft glow
An aura
Of whispers and tilting
With wind bending
My point of view
So that birds land
Upon my boughs
To which I can take
No meaning hidden
And softly acknowledge
Ancient Gaia’s shift
As seasons go.

Early Morning Hour

In the early morning hour
Wind seems to lay down
Rising sun sets out to warm
Every frosty blade of grass
And when my horse is saddled up
I mount my trusty steed to roam
Every bit of our home range
To find my cows and learn the land
For my life I’m setting out
Warm coffee in the morning
Another day to go about
In this early morning hour.

Take

Take what you want
Need nothing more
For remembering
For singing song

There was no audience
No standing pride
Call of the monkey
Song of coyote

When the willow
Grows over your head
Look to the weather
Summer’s soon over

Find me in
The falling weather
Temperature dropping
Frost is coming

Always remember
Take what you want
Nothing worth calling
This singing song