a poem in my pocket

sentimental sonnet

14 Feb 2014 10 Comments

by lynn__ in Uncategorized Tags: heart, love, valentine

dear valentine, please take me for a drive

and even though i sit on the far side

just reach for me and pull me close tonight,

forgive the angry words or times we’ve lied.

yes, you work hard to earn a farmer’s wage

and for our farm and family i have saved —

our sons, five strong; each one best work we made.

my heart still leaps to see your smiling face!

but if old age or health demand a nurse

remember promises we vowed in church

together stay for better or for worse,

so we will always share a common purse.

on thirty years of love we now look back

and know we have the Lord to thank for that.

___________

…and a “thank you” to tony maude at d’verse poets pub for the “bouts-rimes” (rhymed ends) provided

going postal in deep freeze

13 Feb 2014 Leave a comment

by lynn__ in Uncategorized Tags: cows, envelope, mailbox, wind, winter

clinging to mail with both hands

in the face of a whipping wind,

i trek down long gravel driveway

making heavy footprints in snow.

my body is wrapped in layers

with only squinting eyes exposed.

mitten tugs on stiff metal door;

it opens with protesting creak

to accept offering of bills paid.

i brush out powder blown in,

make a careful deposit, slam

door and set red flag upright.

mailbox swings from its chains;

wind stronger, colder at roadside.

snow-dusted cows watch

curiously as i trundle back to

farmhouse, leaving fresh tracks.

later today, i will dress again

to repeat the ritual, hoping for

a handwritten envelope hidden

between all the advertisements!

winter window sketch

09 Feb 2014 10 Comments

by lynn__ in Uncategorized Tags: sketch poem, window view, winter

sun betrays stark cold contrast:

frozen ground cover of whitest fluff

punctuated by sharp twigs of

clipped rose bushes gone dormant.

tall dark spruce trees cast

long blue shadows, extending

blackish green branches to catch

powdery crystals on their fingertips.

sturdy garden windmill turns its

spinning head into the chill breeze;

red tail fin…lone colorful feature

of bleak and weathered landscape.

oh, but notice the rabbit trails!

we can follow them over the snow–

little bunny tracks criss-cross the dog’s

wider paw prints through diamonds’ dust,

sparkling with inspiration and adventure.

(inspired by claudia’s prompt at d’Verse but confess that my “inner editor” came out with an eraser !)

prayer on a plot of land

05 Feb 2014 2 Comments

by lynn__ in Uncategorized Tags: farmers, Nicaragua, partners, prayer

*Praise for our Farmer-to-Farmer partners in Nicaragua who signed legal titles making them new land owners of their family plots.

Padre nuestro que estás en los cielos

He is the Father of all; both Nicaraguans and Americans.

Santificado sea tu Nombre

We worship him in our own cultures and languages.

Venga tu reino

His kingdom brings physical and spiritual renewal.

Hágase tu voluntad

He works his will in the lives of faith-full farmers.

En la tierra como en el cielo

The land, weather and eternity belong to him.

Danos hoy el pan de este día

We want to be able to feed our families each day.

y perdona nuestras deudas

By his pierced hands all our debts are paid.

como nosotros perdonamos nuestros deudores

We purpose to live at peace with God and each other.

y no nos dejes caer en al tentación

There are no short cuts to integrity.

sino que líbranos del malo.

He alone can free us from our own selfishness.

(photo by Rolando Mejia, Farmer-to-Farmer Facebook site)

the best is history

31 Jan 2014 11 Comments

by lynn__ in Uncategorized Tags: buffalo, Dakota

The dusty village of Buffalo Springs, (population: 35 plus a dozen chickens) rests at the junction of Hiway 46 and a rutted gravel road named Percival Street. Myrtle’s granddaddy homesteaded here.

One hundred and fifty years ago, the B & B Railroad brought people west and travelers would gladly pay to stay at the fancy Hanover Hotel on Main Avenue. Buffalo Springs was a bustling boom town.

Now the only business left is my Uncle Ed’s rustic diner with a couple gas pumps out front, and a neon blue “OPEN” sign in the window. Inside, a shabby buffalo head is mounted above the antique brass cash register.

A few well-worn leather stools line up along the granite counter where Myrtle stacks napkins and calls, “Be right with you, honey!” She sashays over to me, the lone customer at my usual table, with coffee pot in hand and a sharp pencil tucked into her graying curls.

If the few passing cars didn’t need to refuel before entering the badlands of Dakota, Buffalo Springs would have disappeared altogether from the scene, like the herds of bison that once roamed here.