An April Morning

turtle doves,

gray and white,

chase each other from tree to tree,

zooming back and forth,

in erratic flight,

games of love,

or only messing around,

fifteen or twenty,

paired off in twos.

brings a smile to my face,

and a lift to my heart,

on this beautiful April day,

when the world of man,

seems on fire,

dumpster fires in every land,

created and manipulated,

by our own hands,

Gods, kind and knowing,

only in our own minds,

while turtledoves,

gray and white,

continue their erratic flight.

 

my spot

my spot in the world,

home to my soul,

I walk the earth knowing,

I can always find my way home.

 

Dancers re

dance the dance,

call on the spirits,

be who you must be,

proud of your people,

and the world you see,

living happy in your reality.

 

Hills of Sand

hills of sand,

paradise unknown,

except for a chosen few,

willing to live a life,

peaceful but hard,

devoid of people,

and culture,

false and fading,

the hills reality,

and the life lived there true.

 

Rattlesnake Road

road through rattlesnake country,

thousands of snakes lay on the road,

soaking up the sun,

a death sentence during certain times of the day.

 

Chaotic

 

Bluffs

Bluffs knowing the history and heartache of native sons,

a national park now,

hoping to remember the past,

both the good and the bad,

and save the natural beauty for all to see.

 

home

long ways from home,

the road hard and difficult,

but worth the ride,

to return home.

 

the building

 

A painting

an image beautiful,

even if make-believe.

 

Cranes

cranes soon here,

harbingers of Spring,

and the end of Winter,

residents wait with bated breath,

while strangers travel to view the spectacle,

returning with the cranes.

year after year.

 

Face in the painting

a face in the painting,

or only an illusion,

or a happy accident,

or maybe just something the artist only sees.

the painting beautiful,

in an uncomfortable way.

 

River

river run,

hidden in the depths of the Sand Hills,

known to only a few lucky souls.

blessed to live along its banks,

remembering the beauty in bygone days.

 

the Oasis

The Oasis

the hills of sand, quiet,

the breeze whispering through the long prairie grass,

cattle graze in the afternoon sun,

the windmill pumping water from the ancient underground,

the world seems right,

so beautiful and pure,

an oasis, from the fallen world outside these hills,

beyond the fences of barbed wire,

and the vacant highways of rural Nebraska.

 

Geometry

Geometry


jets traveling at a rapid rate of speed,
east to west,
parallel,
making lines across the sky,
never intersecting,
infinite,
over this fly-over land,
parallel lives into infinity,
not intersecting,
but the people,
and their lives,
parallel and apart,
the geometry perfect.