I was able to take a ride on my 50cc scooter today
It had been sitting for so long!
As the wind touched my face, everything disappeared.
All that was left were images that I passed by
Purple flowers, yellow flowers, birds and barns
I saw the tractors on the widespread farms
White laced clouds floated in the blue sky
My body was cleansed, the air was fresh
Freedom led me on the roads I traveled
On top of all that, gas is cheap!
I cannot ask for more than that ! (Lol)
Heidi Sands
8/9/26
(C)opyright
fair time begins
french waffles and steak hoagies
animal barns- rides
Red Earth
Red barns
Red rooves
Hold up day time stars
Heavy summer air
Light summer rain
Family farm since 1785
How many have moved off since then
Red dirt
Red barns
Red rooves
Holding up
Daytime stars
Dried land with the shallow mud cracks
Barns remained with the empty sacks
Rolling tyres in the soft soil dust
Stained the leaves with brown coated rust
Scotching waves blowing all over
Unsown plants turned into stover
A curse of God! A few grumbled
Global warming! The learned mumbled
The farmer looked up at the sky
In dejection, he made a sigh
On the eyelid, a pearl drop splashed
At once, a thousand watt smile flashed
They found you in the dust behind the barns
A skittish spark with lightning in your legs
A diamond in the rough with uncut charm
All promise
All heartbeat
All raw edges
You burst onto the track like dawn breaking
Crowds rising as your hooves carved out a future
Every stride a prophecy every win a rumor
That greatness had been hiding in plain sight
Seasons wear on even the brightest stones
Your shine dulled not from lack but from living
From so many winning miles run hard
Expectations stacked like saddles on your back
Some whispered you’d lost your glimmer
That the sparkle they once saw slipped away
But diamonds don’t vanish they change
They carry their history in every facet
Every scuff a story every flaw a truth
And you Diamond Scuffle…
Still catch the light in your own way
Not the blinding flash of a rising star
The steady gleam of something that’s endured
You may not blaze like you once did
But you still shine
With the weight of everything you’ve been
A diamond still…
Just one that’s learned what brilliance costs
I am a cartoonist, an artist, a painter, and I do a little poetry.
Competitive? You dare not imagine.
I have had the best word over 900 weeks
I spend four to six hours a day playing word chum
Decorating my avatar in costumes that cost real money
Yes, I am a spend thrift
I buy whatever I want whenever I want
I feel I deserve it
I worked until I was 72
that’s a lot of working
the driving was a nightmare
forty-five minutes to an hour each way every day
I no longer drive
Pajamas are my go-to clothes
I am a recluse
living with two dogs the size of elephants
They should be outside in barns; they are in the living room
lying with their feet up and their nickers showing
I do not care for discipline
I was never any good at it
A child wants chocolate cake for breakfast
fine.
I had to practice saying no
It has not helped
I am no good at that either
I am a small-town girl
we will do whatever we can to get you to love us
do your laundry, your dishes, your taxes
take your husband to the vet
whatever it takes
liking us is not enough
we want everyone to love us
it is a small-town girl trait.
Imagine 1800 pound Clydesdale horses . . .
in the downtown and neighborhoods . . . a vision come true
from farmers fields and barns to city streets
chosen for strength, intelligence and calmness
approachable, highly trained
four legs and a saddle . . . beautiful
“Wreck ashore! Wreck ashore!” came t’ cry on t’ wind,
Lanterns lit quick as t’ dark rolled in.
Steady on wi’ thi crates — them crabs an’ Welch’s near!
‘Tis whiskey this — nee chance it’ll spoil in ‘ere.
Rain an’ wind can’t find us here,
Sea maybe… but we’ll sup wi’ cheer.
These caves lead straight t’ father’s hoose,
An’ more beyond to hide these fruits.
Lantern sways on dripping stone,
Bottles clink as up we groan.
Scraped bloody knee an’ t’ elbow ache,
Forgotten soon wi’ profit make.
Tha whines an’ bawls cos tha’s lug crates,
Twelve bottles o’ nectar — tha’ll thank me, wait!
“Easy now lads, keep t’ lantern low —
Up t’ bolt-hole sharp we go.”
‘Tis salvage this, not looting mate,
Pulled from out them vicious waves’ gate.
Straw spills soft as t’ crate we crack,
Golden smell comes drifting back.
Eeh, t’ excise’ll come — nee doubt o’ that,
Sniffin’ round like dockside rat.
T’ excise searched caves an’ barns galore,
Yet weddings rang on t’ village shore.
The snow stuck to the trees, gripping the branches
The fence was painted white from the cold weather
The valley below had miles of white over ice on the river
Even with gray skies, the snow spread beauty everywhere
Around every corner on the road, another winter scene
Like turning pages of a book with pictures not words
These are the words to describe snow covered land
and farms without green grass to be seen around barns
Smoke from.chimney's showed the warmth held inside
The same way life can be cold, but warmth remains in the heart
Heidi Sands
1/7/26
There are no crashing Hebridean waves here,
just flat acres of cornfields and country roads,
only farmed earth and red barns.
This mist drowned morning
the sky has offered its own sea,
it carries a saline memory
of spray and spume.
Here in my suburban garden
North, South, East and West
are one.
Blooms are now sea anemones
the hedgerow a reef,
a familiar tree line is a gray cliff face.
For a long moment
I gaze from a Scottish shore,
but then a kitchen radio is turned on,
a truck blasts its air-horn, a child shouts.
A blotting gust of wind scatters
all before it. Ohio quickly repaints itself.
Somewhere in a cornfield
a rabbit sniffs a passing sky-wave,
it may have shrugged,
hard to tell, but I assume it did.
she stealthily sneaked up on farming community
surprising everyone, for they were deep in sleep
threw barns, sheds, tractors and pitchforks into the air
they were whisked away inside her whirling turmoil tunnel
1952 tornado in Nebraska, devastation from an F-4
Traveling along the Grapevine
soft green hills look like earthy fabric
folded into velvet shadow crevices.
Layers of rich, luxurious shapes
form the mountainous terrain.
As we make our way along the highway
the golden glow of the afternoon sun
caresses the flowing hillsides
oh so gently
on this cool winter’s day.
Sparse oaks flash their amber leaves
over the muted landscape
loudly interrupting introverted hues
that linger quietly over the grassy fields.
Against a whitewashed sky
hints of snow can be seen
amongst the scarce pines
while in the valley, sagebrush whip around
on a random road near run down barns
where ravens hide.
A linear network of power lines appear
marching like steel sentries
transformers conquering fields
while a formidable army of cars and trucks
hurry towards their endless destinations
unaware of the quiet beauty that surrounds.
1.
Then the Lord said to my heart:
“Remember the covenant I made
with your ancestors.
Not in thunder,
not in palaces,
but on the roads of suffering
where the humble carried My light.”
2.
And I remembered.
I remembered Trubar,
whose words shaped our tongue
like a sculptor shapes stone.
I remembered martyrs
whose courage grew in the shadow
of tyrants and occupiers.
I remembered mothers
Who guarded faith
like a hidden treasure
beneath their aprons.
3.
It was not power that saved us.
It was fidelity.
Not armies,
but prayers whispered in barns,
rosaries slipped through weary fingers,
Lamps kept burning
when hope seemed foolish.
4.
So I answered the Lord:
“Renew in us that courage.
Let us not fear the night
nor the changes of this age.
Teach us to love without bitterness,
to speak truth without pride,
to hold fast without hatred.”
5.
And the Lord replied:
“My covenant is not broken.
Even if a nation sleeps,
I do not slumber.
I hold its heart in My hand
until it remembers to beat
in rhythm with My love.”
Cowboy Bob loved taking the kids to the campfire
He told them stories about roping cattle, cleaning manure out of barns,
riding broncos, driving tractors, eating from a chuckwagon
They were fascinated by his stories
There was a lot of laughter
We grown-ups had our own circle and our own bonfire
Grateful that Cowboy Bob loved entertaining our children
It made our campout experience so much nicer
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