Walking along a path through forest’s green,
a clear running stream where I can fish.
A porch swing to sit and watch nature’s scene,
that is the heart of my Missouri wish.
Strolling through a tinted meadow at dawn,
the smell of wildflowers tickling my nose.
Black-eyed Susan, Blue Stem, Prairie Clover,
bright Coneflowers, Columbines, and Primrose.
Filling my lungs with the syrup of life,
spying the sun glinting between swaying leaves.
Hearing the melody of a robin’s song,
as it drifts upon a soft summer’s breeze.
Feel the glory of a morning’s sunrise,
as it fills the sky with a promised day.
Wonder at the beauty of sunset’s glow,
sleep sound and dream as worries drift away.
Stand in silence atop a grassy hill,
soaking in all that nature has to give.
Gaze across the beauty of God’s workshop,
knowing this is the Missouri way to live.
Categories:
blue stem, poetry,
Form: Rhyme
The Spirit of God is in the wind that glides across the land-
stirring the tall Blue Stem into billowing waves of grass,
that roll toward snow-topped mountains-
defining the distant horizon-
mountains appearing nearly as purple as those
grape flavored ices cast on wooden sticks-
that most children find so appealing.
Majestic birds of prey glide effortless overhead,
riding invisible currents of air-
like escalators in the sky-
adding their plaintive calls to that of the incessant wind.
Below, furry creatures scurry for cover-
reminiscent of soldiers on fields of strife-
desperately fearing overhead activity and sounds.
Wild prairie flowers of all colors and variety
bloom profusely, diffused throughout a tapestry of green-
like colored glass ornaments on a Christmas tree.
Virgin land never touched by plow or defiled with post and wire.
So grand, the Tall Grass Prairie-
once so vast, now nearly forever gone -
replaced with corn, beans, and wheat.
Tis true that a prosperous people must eat-
but can’t what little is left be preserved for posterity,
as a constant reminder that even prosperity has a price?
Categories:
blue stem, environment,
Form: Free verse
A newborn's but a fertile field most parents would propose
to plant with seeds of servitude lined up in perfect rows.
Tilled with proper spacing and of weeds there is no trace,
but as for me I'd sooner see a field of Queen Anne's Lace.
People will move random rocks; make rows with every tree
finding satisfaction in their want of symmetry.
But facing one direction just neglects a lot of space;
as for me I'd sooner see a field of Queen Anne's Lace.
Scattered willie-nither by a warm and kindly breeze,
seeds should put down random roots where ever they may please.
For neighbors, Blue Stem Prairie Grass or maybe Golden Rod,
A stately Black Eyed Susan or fluffy Milk Weed pod.
I find no pressing reason all need serve the human race,
as for me I'd sooner be a field of Queen Anne's Lace.
Categories:
blue stem, introspectionme, me,
Form: Rhyme
seaway blue stem~
Massive mama's
bury their babies
Categories:
blue stem, animals, history, life, nature,
Form: Haiku
I’ll go a ridin’ no more through blue stem or chaparral,
Just lead my horse to pastures of green.
I’ll watch those rose ruby suns ease on past the ol’ corral—
Think back on the things I’ve done and seen.
Oh, you can’t go on a ridin’ for all your livelong days—
You’ve got to know when to settle down.
You’ll gently pet your ol’ horse as you put her out to graze
And soon life won’t seem so bad in town.
But when blue bonnets and the high plains send their callin’ card,
Your restless feet start to feel that itch.
Then it don’t matter if you’re stove-up or your butt is lard—
That feelin’ calls to the poor and rich.
Just once more I’ll go a ridin’ in the sorrel and sage—
Testin’ my ol’ horse for all it’s worth.
And I know that time cannot stop me, even at my age,
From ridin’ free of the reins of earth.
Categories:
blue stem, cowboy-western, death, life, time,
Form: Cowboy Poetry