Poetry and Other Writings

Fried potatoes at the farm

Not telling what the season was, fried potatoes were a sure hit. You could smell them frying clear to the den of the Diamond R, and some days, clear to the patio which was built on the east end, right on the wall of the den. That meant the aroma would travel from kitchen, telephone room, middle bedroom provided the door was open to that room and on into the den.   Mmmm, Mmmmm, Mmmmm the aroma was quite delectable and one could hardly wait to eat those fried potatoes.  There was nothing like having a little bit of crisp and softened pulp of either a regular potato or the red or sometimes called new potatoes.  Then when it was served with dinner, you could put salt, pepper, and sometimes garlic salt to season them.  Some folks would drown them in catsup, but in my opinion, it sure drowned the whole taste of a good fried up potato!  There were other times when an onion was sliced up and fried too, sure gave a mouthwatering flavor.  Home grown vegetables sure were handy to cook up with a meal.  The flavoring was more pure than the store bought kinds.

Sunday dinners were more like what a lot of folks call lunch.  Grandma and some of the Aunts sure would cook up some real fine meals.  My all time favorite is roast beef, mashed potatoes, lumpy milk gravy with pepper sprinkled on it, or the natural roast beef gravy, boiled and sliced yellow squash or zucchini, fresh red tomatoes sliced, green beans boiled with some fresh bacon, sometimes corn on the cob, or okra fried or boiled, pickled okra and pickled beets, bread or homemade bread, with tea for the older folks and water or kool-aid for us kids.  Now, mind you, I certainly had some allergies that interfered with that tasty food, like milk, so only on an occasion, I would try that lumpy gravy and it sure was tops! Especially with pepper sprinkled on it.  And I had an allergy with tomatoes too, but they were so good anyway with table salt sprinkled on them, fresh from Grandpa?s garden.  Afterwards, I?d get a rather annoying rash running up my arms from the elbows that sure itched something awful.  Later on in life, the tomato allergy turned into stomach distress.  And as for milk, my poor little stomach system just couldn?t digest milk, so when ingested?. well let?s just say that the bathroom better be available, cause I would be heading toward if I could make it in time. 

Why we always called it Grandpa?s garden and not Grandma?s too, I really don?t know. Maybe cause most of the time we would be with Grandpa in the garden, helping hoe, rake, water, pick, check on growth, or just at his side when he would tend to the duties of a garden.  Grandpa taught us many things about gardening, where to step, what to watch out for like snakes and wasps, and bugs on vegetables or the fruit trees or berry-bearing bushes.  A lot of times, he would use straw or hay for mulch.  He sure could whistle too.  Many times he would be whistling away, sometimes it would be as clear as a mini-flute carrying some kind of a tune, unknown to me of course, and sometimes he would do a kind of a whispery whistle.  I guess that was his way of thinking while he was working, especially when it was the whispery kind.   I know Grandma was with him sometimes in the garden too, but mostly are the memories of her when she would be in the kitchen making such delicious food for us to eat.  Some days now, especially in the summer, I would wonder how she did it, working over a hot stove or oven.  They didn?t have central air nor did they have central heat.  Later on in my years, when I was introduced to clearing the dishes from the table and into the dish washing all dishes, utensils, pots, pans and having to dry and put them away?. I knew it had to have been something awful.  You would just sweat so much washing those dishes and the water was so hot for washing and rinsing.  You?d be so sweaty and uncomfortable, sometimes wet from the sweat going down your back, and I had long hair too! Thank goodness it was braided either in one pony tail or two braids.  Grandma would have her hair braided and always pinned up into a bun.  She would wear cotton dresses, or calico dresses, and an apron.  You don?t see many folks wearing an apron, a long apron like she did in her day.  Sometimes one of the aunts would help with the cooking, or sometimes my dad would help too. He could make a really delicious sour-dough loaf of bread or rolls. 

Grandma was busy a lot of times, before and after meals too.  She would make pickled okra, bread, preparing dough for maybe a pie or more bread, snapping beans for a meal, slicing cucumbers and onions for the vinegary water that they sat in, making jam and jelly, thawing out meat for the next meal or for the next day.  She would dry corn and meat too.  I sure loved dry corn, and when I found it in the jars, I sure helped myself to plenty of it.  Of course, you would have to be very quiet and sneaky getting into those bell glass jars.  There were times when we would be asked what happened to the corn, it would seem that the jar amount would be dwindling, and of course, who would admit to that?   Now-a-days, you can?t find that kind of dried corn much anymore, the store brand is sweet and takes away from the home-grown flavor.  I?ve been told of other cousins of mine helping with grandma and her drying of things too.  One of them, when she was young, was helping keep the flies off the drying of meat.  Grandma would lay out a cheese cloth or cotton tea-towels across the top of the back porch roof, and lay out strips of meat.  She would do the same for drying out corn.  But, one day, Grandma went to check on the progress of the keeping flies off the meat process, to find that the huge amount had ended up in my cousin?s belly.  Dried meat is just as tasty as dried corn, and it was hard to keep it from staying plentiful!

That would be the same for helping pick blackberries off the bushes in the garden.  Grandpa would instruct us many times not to eat them without washing them first or not eating too much.  But who could resist from putting a few in your mouth when they were so ripe, bulging with flavor, and smelled so sweet?  I remember having a lot of belly aches after eating those unclean blackberries.  Grandpa had lots of peach trees too, and some apple trees.  That same principle of eating before washing the fruit applied to those also.  He would show us how to pick a peach, when it was ripe, watch out for bugs or worms and such.  So, as usual, we would sneak into the garden, and pick lots of delicious peaches that would satisfy our bellies at the time, but then be sick later.  Some lessons were purposefully never learned. 

But, those days at the Diamond R in which we all refer to as ?the farm? was full of lots of good and not so good memories.  The meals prepared, the family get-togethers, laughter, crying, grandkids helping with the grandparents and with aunts and uncles and plenty of cousins to do chores with.  And as far as eating fried potatoes, well, nothing was like eating them at the farm! And believe me, there were not any leftovers either, because if no one wanted to finish them off at the meal, sooner or later, someone would come in and eat the rest.  And most times, no one knew who ate them up!

©Copyright 21 August 2009; mccampos

~~Cobblestone in the woods

We were in the back porch bedroom, where there was a big white freezer and an old iron bed.  Grandma and Grandpa were teachers and the book shelves had lots of their books they used in their teaching. On one wall, was an antique wooden wall phone hung up.  Many an occasion, one of us would call someone and have quite a conversation to whomever we wished to dream up of. Of course, it wasn?t connected to the phone lines, but it was quite interesting and really nostalgic-like to get to chat it up on that phone!  One late morning, us girls, two of my sisters, and two of my cousins and I ended up calling the operator on grandpa?s old wooden phone. We were trying to reach the Barkley?s.  We were going to saddle up the horses and finish our houses down in the woods and would like to meet up with Heath, Jarrod, and Nick. ?Operator? as we spoke into the black cone, ?Heath Barkley, please? excitedly awaiting him to answer. ?Hello, Heath here,? said the much revered hunk to some young preteen girls with big imaginations. ?Heath! we are coming down your place for a visit with apples from home.  We?ll be riding Sunup and Sundown and maybe we can split up and ride with you and Nick.? ?Your presence will be much appreciated. I?ll let mother know of your visit and she shall have tea ready.?

To much apprehension and excitement, I hung up the black cone on the side of the wooden phone and got on tennis shoes and an apple to go to the woods.  But first, we all had to get the horses and saddle them up.  A couple of us gathered up some oats to lure the horses to the barbed wire fence and then we managed to get a bridle over their necks and the bit into their mouth.  Then we led them as they ate the oats to the big picnic table that sat on top of the cellar near the rocky drive. We put on the horse blanket, then the saddle, and hoping not to get a kick from them, we would be pulling the belt and cinch tightly and buckling it on.  Then we gathered our snacks and mounted the saddle, and the others sat behind the saddle.  We rode the horses down the pasture to the woods where we had begun making outlines of our homes with cobblestones.  One of our aunts and mother of our cousins that were riding had showed us how to make an outline one time before.  She had learned how to do that when she was young and told us stories of her adventures there.

We never made it to tea, because there was much debate as to where to have the tea, but it was decided to go to the woods near the creek and finish making our cobblestone houses.  With some argument on who gets to get the place where a run-off went to the creek, eventually it was won by my next to younger sister and my cousin that was a year older than me.  Some years later, though, I did get to obtain that area and loved it very much. It was in like a gully where runoff from much rain goes to the creek below, and the side of the bank was like a nice, natural wall that could be used for protection. It was fun, but hard, using tumbleweeds as brooms to move out the leaves from the fall.  Problem though, having to be real careful, cause occasionally we would happen upon a snake and then we all scream. And you didn?t want to spook the horses or you would have to walk back to the farm without them, and to have to explain what happened.

My next to younger sister and younger cousin and I would go more to an area at the side of the woods and began to clean out leaves, sticks, and extra cobblestones.  We wanted to make a big impression for the Barkley?s should they come out to visit us, instead us visiting them. We would gather up all kinds of cobblestones, oval, round, heavy, and not so heavy, and make outlines between a few trees. We built a nice place, had about 2 rooms.  We would outline where our fireplace would be, a kitchen and bedroom.  We used an old wooden shelf that had been left there from years before us for a table.  We would pick wildflowers from the pasture and put them in our paper cups of creek water and place them either on the ground near a cobblestone wall or on the wooden shelf. 

Later on in years, an old red flyer wagon was found and we used it in our houses too.

Such hard work us girls would do, cleaning, gathering stones, imagining living there or at least sleeping there at night and then having slight fears of snakes, spiders, and wild dogs howling that might make the night stay not really much fun.  The conversations of hanging out with the Barkley?s, and the arguments as who gets to have Heath would get some of us jealous and downright mad. But then there was Rowdy Bates, and some from the ?High Chaparral? western that had a cute one too. And of course, Little Joe from Bonanza was a cute one to pine over too.  If you didn?t get to have Heath, then you had other good choices.  Seems though, I would end up with Nick, Jarrod or Buck Cannon or Reese. Seems I never really had good taste in good looks, but I was not too down I didn?t get the good-looking ones.  I would always say ?looks aren?t everything, it?s what?s inside the heart that counts,? probably some lesson I had learned and believed it. But, sometimes a big resentment grew inside me, wishing I was better enough to get Heath!  

Oh, the dances we had with those men of the westerns we loved to watch, and, well, we did not mind Barbara Stanwyck or Linda Crystal or Linda Evans.  We knew from so much watching those shows that we dared not ignore them.  Especially Barbara Stanwyck, although she was often thought of as someone not to cross, cause really, we had big crushes on her boys!

One sunny afternoon, after a visit with the Barkley?s, a bystander could observe some young girls hugging and kissing those trees in the woods. ?Oh Heath? kiss and hug, ?Oh.?  And adding to the big imagination was really a special recognition was the opportunity to dance as if we really are in the arms of one of those men.  It made us giddy and warm inside, knowing that those guys wanted us! ?Makes me wonder what the horses must have thought about us when we went into those dreamy times of hugging and kissing, much less, on a tree with a rough coat of bark!?

There was an open area a little north of the woods with many different kinds of small rocks, some with red and gray inside them. Not too big, but wide enough for entertaining.   We fixed that area to be our ballroom and occasionally had a party inviting all the western men we loved so much.

Ah, such big imaginations us girls had and shared. So fun were those days, silly perhaps as we think about it now, but then, that?s what we would do. We didn?t always get to ride the horses down, and not always had snacks and water.  Some of the times, we would walk a little farther down to the east of our cobblestone houses into the creek. We would take off our shoes, and wade through the coolness of the creek water that went running through our toes and over the top of our feet.  Even though, we would always wary of leeches. Those were some of the days of my youth at my grandparent?s farm and into the pasture and on into where the cobblestone of the woods were.

©Copyright 25 April 2009; mccampos

One summer visit at the Diamond R that ended with liver detesting?

One summer, around age eight or so, I had the good fortune to get to stay with my grandpa and grandma at their farm. Saying my goodbye?s to my parents and other siblings as they drove off in their station wagon. Listening to what would be expected of me and using manners. One of my sisters?s got to stay up in the Village with one of my aunts and uncles and their kids. So, I knew some family was not too far, even though I really wanted to stay with my grandparents.

I remember helping them in the garden and having to walk a bit to get to it. I guess you could call it a mini-pasture where there was a pond that sure had lots frogs croaking at night. There was either an apple or pear tree growing near it too, and sometimes in later years, we would ride the horses there and pick them off the tree and eat away. The garden was big too, and fenced in with a gray wooden fence and some barbed wire.  The gate was of gray wood that had to be kept shut so the cows wouldn?t make their way into the garden. Later on, though, he built a step ladder over the garden to make it easier to get in and out without having to open up the gate. Grandpa had all kinds of good vegetables and fruits planted, some were ready to eat, and some not yet ready to get.  He had cucumbers, green beans, potatoes, peaches, blackberries, we even got to eat some of them right of the bush. But was warned to not eat too much or I would have a belly-ache and I sure didn?t want that. Sometimes there were snakes hiding in that garden, and you had to be real careful where you walked or might happen upon one of the creepy things.

I?d be taught how to wash, dry and snap those beans. Then grandma would put them in a big silver kettle-like pan and let them boil then simmer.  Sometimes she would put in some bacon and oh how they tasted so good when they were served with our meal. We?d peel and slice cucumbers, and then sometimes those slices would be put in a mixture of vinegar and water for soaking.  Nothing like having cucumbers and white onion slices that have been soaked in vinegary water on a hot day!

Sometimes, I got to help get eggs from the chicken coup, and had to be careful of snakes there too. Guess snakes lived in just about anywhere out in the country and near your house. I learned that real quickly along having to be wary of rolling cobblestones over cause of scorpions or spiders. That part of farm living really was not something to look forward to. So many chores to be done at the farm, helping grandma sweep, prepare food, or getting to go with grandpa to feed the horses and cows.

The farm was sure big inside the house and out, and so pretty, cause the Wichita Mountains were to the south and west, while the slick hills laid to the north. One thing though, for some reason when it began to be late afternoon and early evening, I would get a real lonesome feeling. Can?t really explain why, but I sure felt it, and wanted to cry so badly.  One time, while I was on the east end of the house on the patio and I was lying on the old green swinging bed, I began to cry. Those tears just kept falling out of my eyes and trying my darndest to not let my grandparents know I was crying. I would look up into the big cedar tree and into the sky. Something bout that sky, the way the yellow of the sun turning pale and evening was coming, that made me just cry. I cried something awful and trying to hide my tears was hard. I didn?t want my grandparents to worry or make them sad with my crying so much.

The next morning, though, I remember grandma brushing my long black hair out with a wooden brush with metal ends. She would talk to me about her days as a child.  I got to sit in her closet with a window that faced to the north, and you could watch those slick hills, thinking bout all those days when grandma was a girl. Living on the land like the old Kiowa?s used to do. Riding horses, hunting, and just living the way she would tell me. It was a privilege to get to be in their bedrooms, much less getting to be in their closet. I was so badly tender-headed, and it would hurt something awful, but she would wet it and brush till it was not tangly anymore and then braid my hair. I could sit on that braid, because that was how long my hair was. Grandma would braid her hair too, and put it up in a bun.

My grandparents did see me crying the night before, and it sure worried them.  It was decided to let me stay with my sister up at Aunt Bunny?s house in the Village. I really didn?t want to leave them, but I was so lonesome, even though I played that it wasn?t really that way at all. I sure felt bad having to go, wishing my sister could stay with me instead of me having to go there. Aunt Bunny didn?t live too far away, bout 5 minutes up the road and up the hill into the Village of the Boat Landing which was the north part of Lake Lawtonka.

Well, it was nice to be with my sister, until one night we were going to be served liver.

?LIVER!!!! Oh my, why make us eat that nasty smelling stuff?!??  One of my cousins?s told us we could just eat three bites and cover it with lots of catsup, that?s how they did it.

Oh we fretted so much, and how I really wanted to go back to my grandparents. I remember sitting on the front porch which faced the west toward the farm and kept wondering if grandma and grandpa would even let us go there to escape from eating that yucky stuff. And in our minds, we knew that maybe grandma wouldn?t even be happy with us thinking that, and grandpa would have to listen to her and take her side too.

Well, somehow, through the tears and coaxing by the two cousins and Uncle Walter that we managed to get that stuff down our throats. More like me getting it down, my sister just couldn?t get it down. Much gagging took place, and getting sick caused a reaction by Aunt Bunny, that we were told to leave the table and go to our room where we were sleeping in. Oh man, oh man, we sure wanted so badly to run away. We couldn?t go to the city, cause it was too far away, and so we sure schemed how to get to the farm without much notice. But then we knew we would have to explain to grandma and grandpa, and somewhere in all that scheming, we knew the end result would be us having to apologize and stay with Aunt Bunny. ?Cause I was so lonesome that I cried in the evening too much!? Now how can you explain all that to your grandparents? That you wanted to stay with them so you wouldn?t have to eat yucky liver?

Well, my sister and I stayed with my aunt, until my parents came back, and then we all stayed at the farm once again with my grandparents. I remember trying to explain why I was so sad all the time, and really, to this day, I cannot even explain why. There?s just something to that kind of sky, in the mountains, in the memories of times long gone before me, that just brings tears. My poor aunt, too, she really felt bad about that liver incident.  She has apologized and still feels bad, to this day and into her 80 plus years. Of course, my sister and I have long-gone forgiven her too. Although, I still am not a fan of liver and it sure is hard to be around when it?s cooking.  Blah!

©April 13, 2009, ~~melccampos

~~Memories at the Diamond R

Before, during, after breakfast when we were kids….

I was awakened to talk from the kitchen. Men folks having a conversation bout a cow or some farm stuff. Occasionally hearing something bout Mr. Wolf and his place. But really wanting to drown out the noise so I can go back to sleep. It was early for me, 5:00 am or somewhere that time. Been all snuggled up in my blue cotton sleeping bag with big bright yellow and orange flowers on the TV. room floor. Some folks might have called it the living room, but there were a couple of rooms in Grandpa’s house that could have been a living room, like the one with the telephone or the TV. Anyway, I was sleeping on that old turquoise carpet that felt like a burr on some boy’s head. It sure was rough and hard, but in a sleeping bag and many sheets and blankets, it wasn’t so hard to get comfortable, especially when you’re sharing the floor with your sisters and cousins, you didn’t notice too much of the hard floor underneath.

The good thing though was the smell of that coffee brewing.  That aroma would fill the house in no time flat. Especially if there was a breeze coming through the windows. The grandparents didn’t have central heat and air, so a window or two would be opened in the warmer times and gas stoves or wood-burning stoves would be used when it was cold outside.  Anyway, smelling that coffee sure was something good to the senses, imagining why in the world folks loved to drink it when the taste was not as appetizing to me. Occasionally, one could go back to sleep smelling that coffee. I suppose I did many a times, all snuggled in my sleeping bag. My pillow though could have been fluffier. Someone managed to get it during our deep sleep and left me with a hard cushion whose fluff must have conjured up some kind of stiffness over its years.

Somehow or another, I must have gotten more sleep, ‘cause I was awakened to “breakfast is being served! Get up and wash your face and come eat!”  Well, how can you beat that when you begin to hear something sizzling on the big, white gas stove. MMMMM good, and then your stomach begin to talk to you saying hurry up and feed me that delectable food!  Many of us always tried to beat the crowd to the only bathroom of the house, getting in to do your business and getting out as quickly as you can, was the goal.

Walking through the other living room or what we usually called the ‘telephone’ room was a treat, especially if the wood burning stove was a blazed with wood to keep the place heated. (The hall way to the bathroom was always ice cold and one would skedaddle out of there to feel the warmth of the telephone room.) And into the kitchen where those men folk were finishing up their early morning coffee and food and off to their chores, we walk in ready to fill our bellies with home cooking.  Grandma sure could make fluffy biscuits, bacon cooked just right, not too crispy and not too limp. There would be plenty of toast to put real butter on and sometimes fresh plum jelly. Then there was orange juice or more coffee. Sometimes hot tea or water was served too.

Always, first, though was the saying of thanks to our Creator. Thanking for our food, the family, the fine sleep we had the night before and blessing of the new day. Then, with proper manners, us kids sat at the yellow table in the kitchen, and waited for food to be served on our plates, or asked for someone to ‘please, pass’ whatever it was we wanted. The adults and sometimes one of the older cousins had the privilege to sit at the big dining room table. It was grand, made of dark wood, and it was a privilege to get to eat at that table. The room had windows that faced the Wichita Mountains to the south. The other window faced the west, but usually one would be looked at by the big lilac bush in the spring or its winter clothes of gray in the winter or end of fall time.

Back to breakfast, we usually had our eggs scrambled with a little bit of salt and pepper to add to the taste. Us kids would eat, and had to keep our conversation to a very low key or not at all. It was hard to not try to get someone to laugh or whatnot. Then we would get a scolding to hush, ‘cause it was the adults that got to talk. ‘Kids were to be seen not heard.’ But, no complaints really, cause that food was so delicious and felt good all warm going down our throats and into our bellies. Grandma sure knew how to make that food taste so good. And many thanks from their chickens and their eggs!

After breakfast, and dismissed from the tables, we all had to go and pick up our bedding. Fold them up properly and out of the room. Then we had to get dressed, get our hair brushed and usually braided. While the older cousins or women helped grandma clean up the kitchen and get food put away.  The scraps were put in a bucket to be sent out and thrown behind the chicken house in the pasture, or given to Brad and Billy, the two watchdogs to eat away.  Surely, those two dogs felt the same love us kids felt, eating that good, warm food that always satisfied our bellies.

~~©melccampos

    April 11, 2009

My Blue Mountain Bird

 

I saw my blue bird a sittin’ up in a tree

 

Atop the mountain area of a fave place

 

Not sure if he knew he’s been painted

 

In a self-portrait of him and my face

 

Such a lil guy, flying to and fro tree tops

 

Ne’er saw one like him in all my livin’

 

More like him swoosh by as he stops

 

Just taking a breather or two is a givin’

 

What you see across the boulder there?

 

Perhaps another location to build a home

 

Or just takin’ the scenery as I am here

 

Watching the elk ‘n buffalo eat and roam

 

What a perty song you be a belting out!

 

A melodious tune that sprinkles the air

 

So sweet soundings of love and devout

 

As shiny sun drops plink on the water

 

©Copyright 28 January 2009

 

MahTame

 

Treasures of Times Long Passed

Went on a walk through the pasture grand

Through prairie grasses and tumbleweeds

In and out of deadened wild plum thickets

On worn out paths where yesteryear recedes

Was going to search for treasures left behind

From an old dump that was bulldozed over

Memories of grandma and grandpa entered

Reality as I began to dig things from undercover

Metals, wires, an old stove, roofing and glass

Peeking out from under leaves and hard dirt

Awaiting for their release from the ground

As I dug with care so as not get myself hurt

Old bottles of interest, patterned and colored

Found an old sprite can and other rusty cans

Some things were quite wedged into the earth

Cleaned off some dirt with my tired-out hands

Yea, another time will have to revisit the place

In search of more treasures of times long passed

Tis hard to let go of those memories of family

The farm was the place to be at as time surpassed

©Copyright 26 December 2008, MahTame

Taken back to times of then

As I retreat into somber solitude

In the old bristly gray recliner

Viewing thy mountains I love

Absorbing times I?ll remember

Grandpa, grandma, voices of past

Talk of the farm and folks of ago

Hard work and caring for family

Such endearing treasures I miss so

Tears streaming out of sad eyes

Where have those times gone to?

All those family gatherings of love

Now I live with memories of you

O mountains embrace my heart

Ne?er release me to thy cruelties

Of this senseless world I live in

Guard my soul from the crazies

This quietude surrounding sound

Comfort mine grieving self again

Longing permeates deeply within

O how I want to go back to then!

©Copyright 15 November 2008

MahTame

In my mountains

Yellow fleur in my mountains

Casting sunny momentous smiles

Light airy movements through

Bring cheeriness for many miles

Trickles of Lost Lake running by

Amidst rocky crags and crevice

Rippling sound drowning of tears

Avoiding the ?lil snake?s armistice

I?ve spoken to my mountain area

And felt the soft, lilting breezes

Caressed by its aura and comfort

Encouraged as my grieving eases

©Copyright 09 September 30

MahTame

Summer days of agone

The sultry dog days of summer

Have come for a long, hot visit

Makes having much fun a bummer

But reminds me of old times a bit

Going back to the past as a child

On the patio at the Diamond R

Imaginations became beguiled

With grandpa?s things near and far

Laying on the old green swing

Sweatin? and stuck to its mattress

We listened to the cicadas sing

As we swayed with little activeness

Shorts, t-shirts and barefooted

Our long hair braided in one tail

Laughing, singing, or talkative

Such stories we made up to no avail

Yep, these hot days of summer

Where childhood memories glow

With the stillness of the atmosphere

Become priceless times we bestow

©Copyright 04 August 2008

MahTame

calmness in the valley

clouds on my mountains

casual wisps lingering by

no set of worries or cares

just lazily release a sigh

calmness covers the valley

occasional bird chatteries

or a cow hollering yonder

adds to prairie harmonies

inundate my senses with

sweet pink mimosa flower

and rained on sweet grass

take me into your splendor

©Copyright 15 July 2008

MahTame