The Gift – Grandpa's New Fiddle
It had been a huge day already. The eighth-grade graduation ceremony In the rural Summit School Marked the end of schooling For him and all the boys.
poetry
Read MoreThe Gift – Grandpa's New Fiddle
Our Forever's a Little Bit Late
SONGS OF THE FLINT HILLS I gave up on looking for love late in life. I made sure that no one could see what's inside.
Night of the Ice Storm
In freezing rain somewhere to the west, Our electronic arteries to civilization Have given way to crystalline armor, Growing each hour until finally The burden is too heavy to bear: The main line snaps, And a thousand mechanisms Fueled by this rural limb of electrons Quietly and immediately stop. This grey winter afternoon, Amidst initial excitement and Delighted predictions of school cancellations, Plans change in a scurry of preparation: Gathering candles and firewood.
The Ballad of Sam Wood
Sam Wood was born in Ohio In eighteen twenty-five And grew into a pioneer Who fought on freedom's side. A hundred thirty pounds he was With a boyish happy grin, But tell him of a fight for right, And he would jump right in.
The Lineman Really Cares
The lineman straps his hooks on And begins to climb that pole Leans back against his safety belt And right on up he goes. It's second nature to him as He scales the height so tall.
Town Rock Sign
I brush aside the curled pink tangle Of last year's bluestem leaves And pull hard against the flat rock's edge, but it won't budge. I see another and tip it up, A limestone mold of ancient seas, Lift its always-impressive weight Up to balance on my hip, Sidestep and lay it on a bare place In the "D" of the town rock sign.
The Little Village Church
There's a little village church I know In a valley swept by river's flow Amidst the fields and hilltops high, Its spirit reaches far and wide. On Sunday morn folks come to town From farms and ranches all around, Across the hills and country miles To greet and welcome all with smiles.
December Morning Frost
On through Cassoday We were driving north in the half-light Out across the last high plateau, When finally beneath the dawn glow The sun appeared molten and crimson, Suddenly shooting its rainbow light Across the deeply frosted prairie, A prism blanket of hypnotic flash and sparkle. We wound our way on down Through the silent beauty of diamond-backed, tawny hillocks, Into the narrow river valley of farms and tiny village, Past the frosted windshield of an antique truck Parked forever in a nest of bejeweled weeds.
High School Vocal Concert
Toward the 1920s stage framed in art deco style -- Recently painted by volunteers, I peer over heads of grandparents, Young couples trading restless toddlers, Mothers and fathers focused ahead on their children's faces. In this world of worry and uncertainty, We have come this evening to hear our teenage children sing.
Kaw Trail
On westward we go toward the last buffalo To the high plains of sturdy short grass, Where the great southern herd's Still a sight beyond words, As it covers the prairie so vast. On to Plum Creek and Turkey Creek, Smoky Hill, too, Our ponies and families walk To the campgrounds we know Of our grandfathers' ghosts From the past glory days of the Kaw.