Forgetting the Line of Time
The pages shift in memory of
happy times as kids
hunting down the rabbits
is what my brother did
Mom would make a pot of stew
we all would partake
and grateful for the meal we had
we bowed our heads in Grace.
We explored the creek than ran
through the pasture green
in Fall we’d fling those cow chips
a farmer’s kid’s baseball
and if one got hit,
it was no fun at all.
We stepped on dried Thistle heads
the pain was sharp and long
the old Burdock heads would cling
to clothes and hair and dog.
We walk the pasture with much care
looking for milkweed tall
oft times there would be a butterfly,
not yet fully formed
the green chrysalis, a marvel to be sure
a gift and wonder to behold
as nature did her work
and taught the chrysalis to be
a Monarch Butterfly.
Soaring Feather
2007
End of the warrior
Eyes of amber
Ebon hair
He pictures her, waiting
For her not so prince charming
Armor dented with a dull patina of heavy use
Without words she comes to him
Working the laces and buckles gently
The hard shell falls away
Softly her fingers trace the scars beneath
Her lips beckon him her eyes dilate as he touches her
Her shift comes done effortlessly
Slowly and gently he loves her
He knows in his heart he will never need the armor again
All he wants now is to please her
And never fight again