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Lon Wartman Poem
“Mother Earth Speaks”
From the east she awakens
Her nightly slumber aroused
Splashing her face
With thundering waves
Her eyes open to
Snow covered peaks
Valleys rich with green
Forests filled with feathered melodies
And deserts for castaways
Pondering her motherly thoughts
Rivulets of tears
Flow down her cheeks
She speaks
I’ve given you life
I’ve given you bread
The wind to cool you
The sun to warm you
The rain so you may not thirst
You have taken my soil
Rubbed it over your naked body
Made love in my meadows
Bathed in my rain
Danced in my darkness
You no longer
Touch me as a lover
Tracing lines down my spine
You no longer
Lie beside me
Flesh to flesh
Lost in my perfume
Can you not see?
Cast your eyes around
My body is heating
My glaciers are calving
My oceans are rising
My forests are burning
The wind no longer sails
Through my valleys
It Hisses
It Screams
It Thrashes
It Scars
Must I tell you more?
You are sucking my breasts dry
There is little milk to give
You have thrown me against
The wall of time
You have kicked me in
My birthing place
My heart bleeds
You are no longer my lover
You who do not know me
Do not love me
Your denial reeks
Your children will
Never know me
Dear Father Time
Treat them kindly
Spare them your Wrath
“Nota Bene”
Lon 4/12/2016
"Nota Bene" A Latin phrase (or its abbreviation) used to indicate that special attention should be paid to something
Copyright © Lon Wartman | Year Posted 2021
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Lon Wartman Poem
“Blizzard”
Thundering down the valleys
Tearing across the plains
Ten thousand steel horses
Their nostrils spitting steam
Bodies tense with anger
The bastard Boreas
Coming to claim his script
A monstrous armada
Assembled in the Dakotas
Let loose its cannons
In the Nebraska hills
Raining yellow dust
From hell in the early
Morning light.
Huge nightmarish clouds
Filled the sky
Mother cows braying
Horses stomping
Jack rabbits scurrying
Black birds fleeing
Weather man says
Storm on the rise
Laden with dynamite
Screaming and howling
Whipping and pounding
Bashing and thrashing
The ten thousand came
Their hatred brewing
Their ears laid back
The demons raged
The man ran inside
His adobe home
The door refused to close
The shutters shook
The tar papered roof
Began to tear
A mother feared
The trees bent
The angry winds raged
Tearing them apart
Limb by limb
A blinding “Blizzard”
The brown dirt turned white
As mountainous drifts grew
The insanity of it all
Off to school
Nineteen children went
In old Chevy bus
Card boarded windows
Lost in a ditch
That bastard Boreas
Claimed his script
A monument now sits
Frozen in time
It was 1931
Towner, Colorado
Inspired by
Towner Bus Tragedy “Lost in a Blizzard” (March 26, 1931)
Copyright © Lon Wartman | Year Posted 2021
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Lon Wartman Poem
I Rise
I open the windows of my humble adobe
I breathe in the mountain air
I make a pot of coffee
Then read the News...
Recession, inflation
Homeless, addiction
Waste on our streets
Men and women on the mall
Lead in the air
Another one falls
Rifles galore
Rockets hit Kyiv
Russia waring
Men take aim, insanely proud
Little ones dying
Africa starving
Immigrants waiting
Refugees seeking
It makes me ill
I open the windows more
I breathe in the mountain air
I see deer in the meadow below
Copyright © Lon Wartman | Year Posted 2022
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Lon Wartman Poem
“Santa Fe”
Santa Fe, Santa Fe,
Oh Santa Fe,
Take me home to Santa Fe.
Where mountain peaks
Are bathed in gold.
Where artists and seekers
Come to unfold.
Where natives live in ages past
Stair step terra-cotta
Rise on desert floors.
Where artists come to paint and play
Calling all to Santa Fe
Dream maker’s dreams
Come true in the
Travertine
Aisles of Canyon Road.
Take me home to Santa Fe.
Zuni, Navajo and Hopi jewels
Laid out on woven throws.
Travelers come to barter
For jewels upon their wrists.
Sculptors, painters and weavers
Silversmiths, potters and glass blowers
Excite the spirits hidden deep
Within your soul.
The joy of beauty unfolds.
Galleries upon Galleries;
Artistic nudes,
Golden sunsets and landscapes.
Glimpses through storefront glass
Play on your senses.
The sun shines bright in Santa Fe.
Boxes carved in walls
Deliver stories from the past.
Colored doors tell tales of lives within.
Many an O’Keeffe have come and gone
Yet they linger in the spirits
And walls of Santa Fe.
No other place inspires
Like Santa Fe.
I dream of her
Whenever I’m blue.
Take me back to Santa Fe;
Paint a picture on my soul.
You wake up my senses
You beautify my soul
You heal my sorrows
You bring joy to my life
When I die let it be in Santa Fe
There is no better place
To lay your bones
Than dear old Santa Fe.
Take me home to Santa Fe.
Lon 9/24/2021
Copyright © Lon Wartman | Year Posted 2021
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Lon Wartman Poem
“The Turning of Leaves”
While walking down a
Forest trail
I came upon
A most beautiful sight
Much to my delight
A forest floor covered
In multitudes
Of yellows, oranges,
And crimson reds.
Fluttering about on a chiffon breeze
These jewels from summer’s past fell
Stitching blankets for queens
As they lie in midnight dreams
I stopped along this forest path
To claim a few and marvel at
This palette of beauty unseen
Just days before.
I reach to fill my arms
With their beautiful hues
And musky scents.
A gift to my lover
For her intimate desires
As I reach
I hear a rustling
Beneath my feet.
So lovely a voice
It spoke to me
As in a lullaby.
“Please let me be
I’m here to please.”
I’m soon to drift asleep
Under these blankets of
Majestic hues.
Much like you
I’ll awaken one day
To greening vales,
Flowering meadows, and
The new birth of these forest trees
Of
Maples, Oaks and Aspen leaves.
Treasure this Treasure.
As you contemplate your Greystone Years
You’ll drift through life’s many doors.
Many wars and relentless fears,
Many dreams and newborn themes,
Many leaves you will have turned,
And many springs yet to come
You’ll ask
Why isn’t the world as pretty as this scene?
Copyright © Lon Wartman | Year Posted 2022
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Lon Wartman Poem
“A Man of Lost Talents”
We all have talents
Mine the most precious of all
Without a doubt
It is something
I could live without
Some would say it’s a surprise
Some would say it’s remarkable
Some would say it’s incredible
Me, thinks, “Fantastic.”
My wife says I could do much more
If I would quit............things
She says I would have more time
If I would quit............things
Maybe, I could declutter my life
If I would quit............things
I must say it is indeed
A talent that I could live without
But what fun would that be?
I would love to teach others this talent.
I would make a great mentor.
There is always someone
Willing to pay for a great talent.
If I would quit............things
I am the “Master”
I think it’s genetic
Perhaps inherited
Maybe bathetic
Certainly pathetic.
What the hell is bathetic?
So where did the tic come from?
My mother was of German decent
And they never.............anything.
But Me,
Something is always amiss.
I am always happy except
When I.............. things
My glasses, my billfold, my credit card,
My place in a book, my car, and, of course, my keys.
And then,
There is my mind.
I say,
Where the hell did it go?
She said,
I really don’t know.
I say,
It has to be near.
She said,
You just forgot
What you thought?
I said,
No!
I just thought
What I forgot.
I asked,
What happens when I get
Old and gray?
She said,
It won’t matter,
You’re lost anyway.
I say,
Who took my *&#$%@ pen?
Copyright © Lon Wartman | Year Posted 2024
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Lon Wartman Poem
Day-248 “Winter’s Wrath”
From out of the north
The cold winds blew
Hell’s inferno turned blistery cold
The Devil himself all
Bundled in ice coated steel;
His snarly, crackling laughter
Piercing the barren air.
His staff, a brazened fork,
Pierced all who ventured out
Searing holes in sockless shoes.
His razor sharp eyes
Turned pathways glazed
To monstrous graves.
Eternity could not be worse
This inferno from the north.
From out of the south
The warm winds came.
Across the Heavens,
In a chariot of golden sun rays
Pulled by a hundred whited steeds
Apollo took aim.
Over the plains they clashed;
Spears and swords took many a soul
White sheets covered the deadly fields.
The north wind hissed.
The south wind kissed.
Apollo cried out
“My blood runs hot
Forsake me not.”
From his scabbard a diamond blade flew
Cutting the breath of that mighty
South bound wind.
He ripped the armor
From the Devil’s redden skin
And turned it to dust; then
Took that angry man’s staff and threw
It to the sea.
With that the skies began to calm
And the wind turned warm.
Above the plains
In the setting sun
Selene stood proud.
As she glazed the sea
With an orangish glow
A smile on her face
For Apollo her man,
Boreas he tamed.
Lon 2/16/2021 #351
Copyright © Lon Wartman | Year Posted 2021
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Lon Wartman Poem
Day-211 “A Simple Kiss”
There’s a weed in my back yard
It’s tall and lanky
It’s black, mean and ugly
I’ve chopped it down
three times today
each time I turn
it flares up again and again
As I was scratching my head
wondering what to do
along came a little boy
with a candy cane smile
Howdy Mr. Smith!
I see you’ve been
working hard today
just, what is it you are trying to do?
I’m trying to rid my yard
of this pesky o’l weed
I’ve chopped it down
three times today
each time I turn
it flares up again and again
With a twinkle in his eye
and a grin on his face
He said.
I betcha I can rid
it from your yard?
Would you let me give it a try?
Sure said I
If you do I’ll give you a smile
With that the little boy
with the candy cane smile
ran to my back yard and
planted a kiss on that ugly o’l weed
To my utter amazement
it wilted and died
right there on the spot
My Goodness! Said I
How on earth did you do that?
What is this magic you possess?
Where upon the little boy
with the candy cane smile
Said
You kill hate with kindness
Mr. Smith
Now, may I have my smile?
Lon 1/09/2021#315
Copyright © Lon Wartman | Year Posted 2021
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Lon Wartman Poem
“Lynching”
Black man floating in space
Knotted rope about his face
Crosses burning
White sheets chanting
Black man squirming
Blue knee choking
Buildings burning
Dark nights looming
A noose from a tree
A boot and a knee
A black man dead
No one lead
Gutters vomiting
Jesus faltering
Canisters of tears
Scattering fears
Memories from the past
Recall the last
Nothing changed
Our nation estranged
Horrible brutality
Watching reality
A hang man’s stage
Millions enraged
Dusty roads
A hang man’s noose
Burning streets
A black man pleading
So much the same
It just insane
Equal justice
No longer trusted
Civil unrest
A nation stressed
Yet we care
When tempers flare
Doing it right
With all our might
We all must listen
As rattlesnakes hissen
It begins in the mind
You learn to be kind
We are all blood inside
Where love resides
It is not right
That I am white
And am not black
But my soul is cracked
I FEEL YOUR PAIN....
As George was slain
I watched it all
His terrible fall
Again and Again
Again and Again
A henchman calling
A nation bleeding
Again and Again
Again and Again
Crosses burning
Mindsets never learning
It was a lynching
Lon 6/1/2020
Copyright © Lon Wartman | Year Posted 2021
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Lon Wartman Poem
The Killing Fields”
Stepping across these bodies
Makes me ill
Pools of blood stitched
In the soles of my shoes
Body parts dripping from
Walls where bullets passed
She went to school that day
Skipping and laughing along the way
Gunfire from hell
Unleashed in a fury of hate
For no reason at all
Convenient it seems
Seven year old girl
Face half gone
Her mother weeps
They did nothing
Stepping across these lifeless forms
Makes me ill
Rivers of blood
Stain the asphalt
Two lovers embraced
In death
Bullets passed through
Denying them life
They went to a concert that day
Joking and laughing along the way
Gunfire from Hell
Rang down from above
For no reason at all
Convenient it seems
Their parents weep
They did nothing
Stepping across these mangled forms
Makes me ill
Bodies slumped over
In wooden pews
Riddled with bullet holes
Bibles in their hands
They went to pray to Jesus
Thinking everything right
Gunfire from hell
The open front door
All are welcome
Convenient it seems
Jesus weeps
They did nothing
Stepping across these mutilated forms
Makes me ill
Bleeding bodies
Screaming kids
Bisected limbs
Coughing up blood
It was their first date
Popcorn and cokes
Gunfire from hell
Came from the stage door
Down the aisles he strutted
Convenient it seems
Defying reason
They did nothing
Don’t you understand
What doing nothing
Has done?
Complicit you are
No leadership you show
Your arrogance defies wisdom
Don’t you give a damn?
Maybe, if the dead
Were one of yours?
No??
I’m going to guess
You’re too %#&! vain
Makes you guilty as well
Stepping across these bodies
These bodies covered in blood
These bodies without faces
Ties a knot
Deep in my heart
Makes me ill
Blankets cover the dead
We don’t have to look
Yet we’re part of the scene
Living in fear
These killing fields
Make me ill
Copyright © Lon Wartman | Year Posted 2023
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