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.

 

Images of self

created in unknown regions of my mind,

areas I do not like to visit,

thoughts and emotions,

wild and uncontrolled,

seem to be scars on my soul,

which I do not understand.

r
 

regions unknown

melted and marred,

the landscape, unrecognizable,

a painting of regions on the way to hell,

or visions of the pathway to heaven,

the land doesn't seem to be of this earth,

nor do the specters lurking in the painting,

marred and melted.

,

 

Time Sentinels

rocks.

survivors from the past,

observe the passing of time,

and all the changes,

reminding us,

we are only here for a short time,

not survivors,

but prisoners of our time,

unable to observe the changes in time.