Slushies, sticky fingers, and pumpkins

The bus pulled in

Children scurried into a line.

The teachers check for sleeping children on the bus.

Spot, the cat curls herself on the wooden bench outside.

Suspecting nothing.

A flurry of activity soon conspires.

My hand stretches out the window with a little plastic tray.

Full of sticky cider slushies.

That dribble down children's mouths.

They watch intently as pumpkins are dropped one by one

Into a tank of water.

"They float!", A child exclaims.

Awed by this natural phenomenon the children begin whispering in shock. 

Teachers come and go to the window 

Picking up tray after tray of slushies.

Towels, napkins pumpkins, jelly

The cat has found refuge among the empty boxes.

As the bus pulls away I feel a sense of success. 

Cider slushies aren't so sticky after all.

The Wind and Whistle Operator

The wind swept through the bricks.
It swept up my stairs.
Beneath my closed door, it whispered its cold call.
Like an operator
An operator of wind and whistle
That scoot under my door and through my window.

It's cold outside
Cold enough to ice skate, no
The pumpkins look like giant crystallized candies.
The cow bucket had a sheet of frosty ice.
A Rain gage is no measure in times like these.

The sun sheepishly peaks through the clouds
On this bitterly cold morning.
Like a tardy student quietly coming into a classroom.
The sky is baby blue like freshly pulled taffy.
Straight from the candy creators.

The night wind sweeps its thanks through the trees.
Like a silently kept night vigil. 

The Angelus

The Angelus

They prayed 

For plentiful crops.

Their heads bent 

During prayer.

Pray for the poor departed

And the lost.

The Angelus 

Rung from the steeple top. 

Reverent mournful

We, now, bow our heads

For the departed.

A Ghost Echo

A ghost echo
Rings through the air.
A coyote howls
His last farewell to his true love
The moon.

A ghost echo
Rings through the air.
Now cows pick up the tune.
A screeching redtail
Whizzes by.
The cat's tails look long brushes.

A ghost echo
Rings through the air.
A young fawn mews his awakening.
The crickets play their chortling song.
The rising sun
Beckons the floating cloud.

A ghost echo
Rings through the air.
And all is silent.

A View

The sun fell in moon drops

Across the chiseled lawn.

Green and sparkling with dew

Fresh fallen

A calm silence fell

Across the weathered brick house.

The shudders cling dryly to the house

Shifting with the slightest draft.

The dawn brightens the crest of the hill

Reflecting dew

And creating a weary residence

That pawed the very visage of the young girl’s view.

Little Feet Walking on Moonlight

To be unknown
Washed up on some distant shore.
Little feet
Tiptoeing
To your side.

A piano stuck in cadenza.
A flute without sharps.

Little feet
Beckon you.
Leap, won't you follow me?

To be unknown
In some Ozark forest
To get glossed over
By the newspapers
Follow some unknown lead.

To be unknown
Searching for your destiny
Is it far?
The wanderer asks.

Shall we travel farther
Across the states
To rest in some
Foreign place.

To be unknown
Like a wooden cross
Half-made
Is it?

Little feet
Stumble to your
visit.
On the wavering moonlight.

To be unknown
Perhaps,
I'll go out on a limb.
Little feet travel on wards.

Maybe,
That's where all the apples are.

A Silent Scream

A scream echoed a hundred miles.
Across country roads, dust and cattle.
Across city lights, trains squeak and rattle.
A piece of me I send by mail.
The driver doesn't see me as I hail.
Traffic passes
I'm left alone.

Lights of darkness take me home
To the stars of fury
burning bright
Across that long and endless night.

The lamp flickers off
I must go.

Recognition for the Lost Poet

Writers get so little recognition
for the things written
from their ambition.
Words carefully threaded
into the intricate tapestry
of verse.

Long hours of writers block
oftentimes we curse.

Curse at the pages white and pale as snow,
with passion and vigor they write their converse.
to empty ears
it does no good no one hears
except these inaudible pages.

that glower up at us blankly.

Storm

I listen to the groaning and grinding outside my door. The clouded skies do not invite the mornings light through my window. There's a crack of lightning like a snarling felidae. A giant wave of thunder then downpour. Then the soft pitch and murderous roll return. Crashing and booming, echoing across the Heavens.

If you Catch it Don't Let it Shatter

My heart beats
in rhythm with yours
you breath in
I breath out
You walk down the street
I walk down the road
You work in the office
I work on a farm.

During the holidays
we both watch
with grateful eyes
at our sister's
with their families.

We pray for families
of our own someday.
Will we be so lucky?

My heart falls easy,
so if you catch it,
don't let it shatter.

Buffalo Bill's

Buffalo Bill's
defunct
      who used to
      ride a water-smooth silver
                                               stallion
and break onetwothreefourfive pigeonsjustlikethat
                                                                                 Jesus
he was a handsome man
                                       and what I want to know is
how do you like your blueyed boy
Mister Death?

-e.e. cummings

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A short sentence paints a black and white illustration.

A Yarn and the Skipper

A yarn and a skipper
went to sea
to see what was to be seen
the skipper was brave but the yarn rolled away
that curious yarn of the sea.

Falling into Winter

The leaves flutter in the
wind.
The wind bites my bare nose
and travels down my back
causing my hairs to stand on end.
Crickets are chirping
out their eulogies
in the graveyard.
The grass is dry
but its master, the earth,
is frigid.
A few lions piously poke their heads up from the grass,
they have little roar.

Canello

The gurgling highway twists and bends,
above a washerwomen shakes a tattered rug
out of the top window.
Customers scramble to get the winning lottery ticket, hopeful.
Hopeful for a new car, maybe a break from work or a new apartment.  

Chimneys rise above drifting black ash
staining the deep blue sky.
Puffs of cloud drift listlessly 
above.
A red cloaked hunchback 
hobbles through the vendors wares.

Natures Orchestra

The trees whisper in the wind
their bark is healthy and brown'd
The birds chirp in the trees
their happy resound.

Nature plays its quiet melody
Storms rumble in the west
like a snarling felidae.

A lightning bolt hits the ground,
barb wire snaps in two,
The Angus cattle run away.
They will not go through
The flames that lick the sky.