The Black Hills


a mirage or an oasis,
hills,
black and green,
emerge from the prairie lands,
light brown and gray,
water flows through these hills,
a gift from above,
life giving and sacred,
caves underground,
a place holy,
where life began,
and ancestors dwell,
where the old ways wait,
for the buffalo and the coming of Spring.





Bleachers


the bleachers painted a forest green,
the cheapest color the lumberyard had,
the dugouts and outfield fence,
the same color,
looking just as bad,
the baseball diamond the pride of the little town,
the center of activity from April to September,
nights of practices, 
and of games,
through the long hot summer nights,
in the bleachers,
old men would sit and smoke and socialize,
while the young men took the field to defend the town,
and its honor,
the time gone,
along with the age,
now easier to click a remote and watch a game on the t.v. screen,
than sit in the heat,
on the bleachers of forest green.





Sage Advice


voices sing inside my head,
an ear shattering din,
loud and confused nonsense,
but terrifying when the singing ends,
replaced by silence,
I encourage the voices to sing,
or at the least begin to hum,
the sound distracting,
I don't have to think,
but only cope,
sounds crazy, 
but sage advice,
let the voices sing.





The Call


in the stillness of the night,
the call primitive,
felt deep within,
ancient as the glaciers,
once covering the earth,
restless,
the feeling,
captured in a coyote's howl,
the hills' call to me,
a specter in this this impatient, selfish computer age,
binding me to a region,
seemingly devoid of everything,
but space and time,
and sand and grass,
the heart shall ache,
until I answer the call,
 . . .maybe some day.





The Visits


the visits would bring joy to my mother's eyes,
and sadness to my own,
no longer her child,
but a stranger,
my life unknown,
she would smile,
and so would I,
I would take her hand,
and hold it,
sitting side by side,
she would look in to my eyes,
do I know you?
day after day,
the question asked,
left unanswered til the end.





Rainy Day


a rainy day,
no work to do,
I would run to the river,
and hide in the trees,
in a womb of cedar and pine,
the world soon would come alive,
deer would appear,
along with turkey,
and bobcat,
I would sit and watch,
and silently pray,
thankful to witness,
a rainy day.