second summer in Landmark

shadow of the house

edges across green grass lawn

receding eastward

tall grass song

my fingers crush spikelets 

of big bluestem 

copper red in fall and I wonder 

what is in my bones that seeks  to manipulate 

this nature 

with the cry of blue jay in my ears 

and tiny chorus frog at my feet 

the dry indents of hardy grass seeds 

linger on my skin 

long after the wind has picked up the dust

on the funeral of Elizabeth II

it’s not really the long processional 

nor the bagpipe’s lament

it’s not really the resplendent cathedral

nor the flag-draped lead-lined coffin

it’s not really the red robed men

nor the accented readings

it’s actually the boys choir 

    voices pure 

    rising into ether 

    resonating off arches 

harmonies spinning overtones 

    linking to our hearts 

    and sending her soul home 

 

fall feelings

grass still lushes on the lawn 

drinking summer’s rains 

and yet leaves begin to litter 

yellow evidence of the chill of September 

and we bring in tomatoes 

ripe on dying vines 

and potatoes buried 

beneath stalks of sticks 

and we bid farewell to 

long warm evenings of sun 

skin contracting 

to brave the cold that’s coming 

so how long yet can we lush 

as time moves on unhindered 

by dug-in heels

Tall Tall Trees at Snowberry (Folk Fest '22 poem #5)

July sun drenches heat at snowberry field 

beard and banjo 

but no trees 

just wires and foot pedals and speakers 

like a scientist experimenting sounds together 

rhythms so rooted 

harmony so heightened 

lyrics branched out 

melodies green leaves so intricate 

this music reaching for the sun 

Sarah Loewen 1927-2022 (Elegy)

we are driving across 

the curve of the world 

when the news of her last breath 

        comes 

and we are struck by 

tears 

a mother lost 

and I look out at the fields 

stretching out 

and I think 

she was this prairie 

this former grassland 

of wind and sun and soil 

that feeds the world 

and touches teaches all with 

her kindness 

see her smiling eyes 

crinkled with Saskatchewan sun 

as she recalls her many many gardens 

of flowers and food 

and now she will be interred

in this rich ground 

and her spirit will rise like heat waves 

off the summer fallow 

to join her mother 

      and husband 

             and daughter 

                   and grandson

                 and granddaughter 

                               and great-granddaughter 

secure in a good life given on this earth

 

play (Folk Fest '22 poem #4)

away from the jingle jangle of tarps and people 

we go off looking for… 

the bubble man is gone 

no one is on stilts 

just keep walking until  

we find the booth of toys and 

buy a ball for catch 

and then we play 

throw back and forth catch and miss 

miss and catch

ancient game of back and forth 

behind the tents where few people walk 

a couple observes from hammock and 

we chat as we throw 6 years old and 60 

and when we walk back 

he slips his hand in mine