Short Midwest Poems

Cold air
rages through Midwest
Alberta Clipper...

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The magnolia
The frontsman of the spring
The pear is jealous...

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back to the Midwest
fond memories that return
rebuilding my core...

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Forsythia, sun 
Dogwood, crocus, tulips, snow
Springtime in midwest...

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Dark tornadic skies
batten down the Oz hatches
twisters by the score...

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All the doors are closed
In midwest town white windows 
Ice and so vapor...

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perfect rows of corn
thoughts are evenly complete
dreams flirt in green skirts...

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Thomas Hart Benton
Regionalism  favourite son
Painter of the authentic Midwest
definitely one-off I wuld guess...

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An ocelot came by Mama said.
This surprised me and my brother Ned.
In the Midwest?
An ocelot nest?
The idea filled us both full of dread....

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snow
ice frost
icicle
January
teeth are chattering
February also
March has been called off this year
a new ice age in the Midwest
we will not be planting until June...

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I had forgotten...
the sweet smells
lilacs in full bloom
freshly mowed grass
tulips and roses in bloom
springtime in the Midwest
the smells of childhood return
and the comforts I had left behind...

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Anther shamanic sunset in the upper Midwest
Magical brush strokes and hues that redact your mind to the test
Assisted beauty consolidating at the end of day
Memories of the heart that are created to stay...

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Chalkware was a 40’s hit in our small Midwest town.
The carnies let some win, when the gamblers came around
My aunt had a collection
Cherished them with affection
Put them in her dishwasher and mowed them all down....

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This place smells nasty to me
Any place I’d rather be
Fisherman Wharf, yes, I know.
Fresh everything caught below.

Pungency of fish galore
Smell I truly do abhor
Shrimp tastes too fishy for me.
To Midwest I’d rather be....

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Riddled with sand,  

  She walks toward the beach

 Rocks scratch  her painted nails;

		 
The snow that clouded her mind

Slowly dissolves into sea foam
		
Erasing cold midwest memories;


Her feet edge into the water

She grins ear to ear

The ocean is now a reality...

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I thought I should pen-about hot dogs.

That steaming fragrance...ahhhh..

Add some relish and onions.

Or ketchup,  maybe mustard ?

All  beef hot dogs send me.

Chicago had the tastiest! 

Memories of Midwest girlhood days.

I bet you have hot dog memories, too.


        10/10/2021...

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Coming Home


My life has been generously peppered with love.
Like a glorious, Midwest snowstorm, sprinkled by God, above.

I have no idea, why, on this earth, I was so richly blessed.
But, I’d like to return to my heavenly home now,  for eternal rest.



                               12/2/2021...

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a charcoal canvas
flecked with the glitter drops of a painter’s brush
looms above the endless Midwest plains

white-gold illumination
devours my eyes as I gaze upwards. . . 
God is an impressionist artist

6/26/14
For  the 'Bite Size Poem no.8' Poetry Contest of Line Gauthier...

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The sun rises in a watermelon sky

Green leaves welcome the newborn light
shivering in the crisp air

Watercolor wings amid the blooming blossoms
flutter in the breeze

The verdant high hills and gentle ravines
awaken to the Meadowlark’s chorus in Nature's melody



Bite Size Poem no48 Poetry Contest...

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Fly swatter soup. Yum. Yum.
My palette is smiling. Mm Mm….
A rare delicacy, found only in the Midwest
If you live across the road from a pig farmer.
Best eaten in July, when the flies are biting.
Stomached by only a few. 
Yes, it is exactly as tasty as you think.
Can I count on you at six?
Bring a friend....

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Missing that
Sultry muff
Of stained coffee
and stale cigarettes. 

We thought we were
French, and perhaps as
Close to rebelliousness
as the Midwest would Allow. 

My eye make-up made
me Alive and a woman 
Stronger than you

And could ever be. 

With those candles
And cement blocks
you penetrated me

And I was alive....

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a wishbucket painting of a midwest 
  sky in the evening.

an old rusty singlespeed scwinn bicycle. 

 folded mothball memories stacked
  in cardboard. 
 
 and you can pass down three generations
  in an A-framed wonderment.   

 lost to all but not to dust, where spiders play 
 keeper of all still keepsakes.

 thier hollow formed webs catch
  dreams in the night....

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Four season state
Humid with frozen
Organic and dairy
To moving forward
Cows and fraccing
Cheeses and metal
Cranberry bogging
Furniture vendors
Lumber years past
Nature its center
Those unmentioned
Always remembered
Any native spirit
Without exception
Packers call home
Barging on rivers
Schooling Badgers
Big river brother
Paper and welding
Milling and ships
One Midwest state
Wisconsin working...

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silk dreams

 weave a path
 of ancient memories

leading me towards a shared destiny 
with my ancestors

blessing me with visions
 they dreamt

and now I see





~inspired by my interest in finding and walking 'labyrinths' around the Midwest......

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Back Home
It's not our home.
Don't like this place.
When we moved here, smiles left our face.
Too hot, No snow.
Left friends and family back in Ohio.
Holding one man back, body, mind and amo.
Convincing him the other isn't worth the bother.
Only so much sun and sand, one person can take.
My baby's not happy.
He says this is not his home.
Wants to go back to the Midwest.
To his home in Ohio....

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