Golden ribbons stretch as far as the eye can see,
A boundless sea under the sun's gentle light,
Where every stalk of amber wheat sways free,
Unfolding a vision so breathtakingly bright.
The wind comes whispering low from the west,
Tracing soft ripples across the warm, heavy grain,
Turning the quiet soil into a restless crest,
Rolling like oceans over the open plain.
Each gust carves tides through the deep golden hue,
A shimmering swell of honey, brass, and straw,
Rising and falling like waves in the blue,
Holding the heart in a silent, reverent awe.
Above the calm surge, the warm air comes alive,
As jewel-toned dragonflies shimmer and gleam,
While tiny gold midges weave through the hive,
And lacewings float past like a summer day's dream.
High in the canvas of an immaculate sky,
A crisp wedge of swans cuts through the soft white,
In perfect formation, soaring gracefully high,
Shadows drifting over the field in their flight.
Picture-perfect and still, yet endlessly in motion,
The earth paints a masterpiece under the sun—
Where the dry prairie wheat turns into an ocean,
And heaven and harvest are woven as one.
.
uh feminine'z
fistful flowerz
uv
bowing
conceding
tumbling
such pretty flicker'n
each theirn
petal
float 'top thuh
kentucky grass
blue
uh message
path
welcome
lure
purty room
one
fer hern first
love
layered clouds like mountains.
blond and green grass blowing.
single tumbleweed tossing
across highway; Dakota wind
crossing its eyes, slamming
wide open driver's side door.
grinning on prairie grass
at illumination's waving,
and dark ponds’ rippling.
arriving in Sioux Falls safely.
prairie grass
in conversation
with summer rain
Mary! Mary!
Cries the wind
Our children dead
By your maddened ways.
I curse these barren prairies
Our mildened soil by your fruitful hands
Leave no lasting grace.
I run naked and wildened
Like savage and buffalo
Sleeping abreast sagebrush.
Darker clouds gathered yonder
Where lightning falls.
I huddle so
A corpse
In waiting.
Of this, her first impression
For, first reaction
Grass-laughed, joy-blown.
Aster-like smiling.
Sister to that, frisky-maned
And flutter-membraned
For sweet naturalness.
Nymph-like beguiling.
wagon train staple
the prairie schooner whitetop
plain covered wagon
mules and oxen
used on the wild frontier
harrowing journey
TEXAS PRAIRIE PARADISE
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
here, where the horizon bends.
the morning sun spills its warmth.
the Texas prairie stretches~
a vast unbroken beauty where
golden grasses sway.
the air, thick with the scent of sage,
wraps around me like a familiar embrace.
dust motes dance in the light,
tiny galaxies suspended
in the quiet splendor of morning.
cacti punctuate the landscape
these sentinels of resilience,
their spines reminding me
that life thrives in the harshest of places,
and wildflowers burst forth, fragile yet fierce.
here, the earth breathes differently.
my heart learns to listen
to the distant call of a hawk,
to the rustle of a rabbit, and
to the soft sighs of the prairie.
the hawk circles high above me,
its shadow gliding across the land,
a guardian of this sprawling solitude,
reminds me of the freedom,
of the vastness within and without.
I stand rooted in this stillness, finding clarity.
in the expanse, I find belonging.
beneath the wide-open sky,
I am both lost
and found.
Out where the cottonwoods lean on the breeze,
and rivers carve songs through the sage,
a lone rider hums to the hush of the trees,
an echo of some other age.
His boots wear the dust of a thousand trails,
his hat wears the weight of the sun,
but his heart still believes in wide-open tales,
and dreams in the key of a gun.
The campfires remember the names that he spoke,
the horses still answer his sigh,
and somewhere beyond where the prairie smoke broke,
the past rides eternal and high.
March is a good time
to be a thin branch
in a treeless landscape.
You can catch hold of a wind-serpent
in your upheld hands,
a sea-creature born to be
the innards of the sky.
When high rains surf
a flat-faced landscape
mountains of air,
can pitch you pell-mell
onto darkly crashing shores,
margins you once mistook
for yourself.
There are clouds on the horizon
Winds are blowing in from the east
The washing's still out on the line
And the Sunday's best is all creased
The cows are waiting on their feed
For the prairie grass in long gone
We can see they're growing restless
And they'll need milking come the dawn
The eldest now talks of college
It's a doctor he wants to be
From the time he was ten years old
He would say "farming's not for me"
Mary passed away last August
The youngster was thrown from her horse
Her memory is precious
Though we live with the remorse
The winter is fast approaching
Now's the time to stockpile supplies
We'll begin gathering those things
On which the whole family relies
Eventually spring will come
As the cycle of life renews
Calves will be at their mother's side
As, too, spring lambs to the ewes
Even though I love this hard land
I know one day I will retire
I hope I get a chance to live
A long time before I expire
I'll open the gates, set herds free
And I'll let the land go its way
Since there's no one to follow on
This farm belongs to yesterday
Oh don’t bury courtesy
on the political Prairie.
Where politicians rant
And tell words I can’t;
Say in a crowd
or even whisper out loud.
Oh bury courtesy not on the political Prairie.
Where the politicians howl
and untruths flow free.
Oh bury courtesy not!
These words came loud and pleading
from many citizenry.
But they took no heed
those politicians breed;
And they buried courtesy,
on the political Prairie.
I always hear the sound of guitars strumming
harmonica music and cowboys humming
when I feel a warm night breeze upon my face
Whenever I look at a summer night sky
or hear the sound of a coyote's lonesome cry
it always takes me back to that peaceful place
Where men who did not care where they spit or cussed
with wrinkled leather faces covered in dust
would gather around the glowing campfire light
Singing those songs about how life used to be
when cowboys on the range were peaceful and free
until the day’s work tucked us in for the night
We’d rise up each day even before it was dawn
throw on a hat, a shirt, and shove our boots on
ride out to the herd to meet the rising day
It may not have been a fancy life that’s true
seems we always had a million chores to do
but this old cowboy still dreams of living that way
~ Happy Trails My Friend…
There ain’t no worn in path across life’s prairie
to show which is the right way for us to go
If we‘ve chosen right or wrong is just something
that we probably ain’t never gonna know
So there ain’t no need in standing at the fork
knocking our brains out to figure the right road
Either way we’re still gonna reach the trails end
don’t make no difference which path we choose to go
Sure, this way might go here and that way go there
but I can’t say that I really give two hoots
Think I’ll be happy whichever way I go
as long as I got my horse, my hat and boots
I got a few rules that helps me get along
keep the sun at my face, the shadows behind
Roll with what life gives and stay true to my word
try to be honorable, gentle and kind
‘Til we meet again somewhere out on the trail
may your path always take you through the sweet grass
You’re welcome to warm your bones by my fire
anytime that our two happy trails might pass
I have a dream I could quit drifting around
and I could take up a wife and settle down
Together we’d buy us a small piece of ground
a place we could share and let our love abound
We’d sit on the porch and smell the wildflowers
that float upon the breeze after spring showers
Hold hands and gaze at the sunrise for hours
all the happiness in the world would be ours
We could walk side by side while time drifted by
watching the clouds moving across the blue sky
Could raise our children and watch while they try
to grow to be adults right before our eyes
That’s this old cowboy’s dream that will never be
the life I’ve always known is on the prairie
M fate is to wander ever endlessly
I’m afraid it’s too late to ever change me
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