The Grasses' Promenade

Brown winter grasses
Forced down to the ground
Forced to behave like the
Frantic water flowing over it
Towards ever lower places
Ever larger lakes
Never large enough 'til
It formed the grand consciousness
Of all water

The grasses hurried as the water
To protect the ground and remain
There after in the disguise of water
Brown dry currents of grass
Protecting what it could
All else yielded and released
Leaving tree roots suspended in air
Over raw river banks ensnared

After having no choice but to serve
Land and acquiescing to the flood
The grasses regained power and rose
Upright off the ground through
Their horizontal remains
Towards the sun refrained
Grasses . . . the proud
Waving mane of the plains
Allowed to brush the belly of deer
Offering to hide one insect from the next
Green renewal and healing
To regions and fields
Creek banks and meadows
Proudly a-wave
The grasses' promenade*.

-Kelly Voelker

*promenade -  a public walk, typically one along a waterfront at a resort
- a leisurely walk, or sometimes a ride or drive, taken in a public place so as to meet or be seen by others.
- (in country dancing) a movement in which couples follow one another in a given direction, each couple having both hands joined

Uncomfortable Lanyards

Time changes avenues
To sure and known things
Travelers and families
All changing with age
Relationships, friendships
Acquaintances too
Can become islands
In view but not touched
Awakening truths about
Routine and myths
Change seems appropriate
Yet cruel in its methods
I wonder why memories
Are a feature still standard
When often they picture
Uncomfortable lanyards*
To maintain or seek out
Or keep within range
When horizons hold
Sunshine and not so much rain.

-Kelly Voelker

*lanyard - late Middle English lanyer, in the general sense ‘a short length of rope for securing something’, from Old French laniere . 

Cry Out the Despair

I don't want to be here
A day or a year
I don't want to stay here
Oh dear oh dear
I want my old landscape
I want my old friends
Some day I will return there
To the open high desert
Alone in the wind
To cry out the despair of
This region, this climate
The disappearance of joy
I want to break out of this
Jail of my own restoring.

-Kelly Voelker

Frontier Angels

Like frontier angels
We floated with few words
Down the stairs
Through the doorways
Stepping silently
On socked feet
In the farmhouse
Of the Great Plains
Nestled next to the creek
For guidance and play

Like frontier angels
Our flannel nightgowns
Billowed with the heat
Of the giant oil furnace
Heating our bones
Directly and deep
During the dark
Of bedtime hours and
Before the dawns bright
We connected together
As children of Light.

-Kelly Voelker

NOTE: I wrote this about my Mom and I, in our flannel nightgowns, taking a moment to enjoy the comfort of hearth and home amid harsh winters in the Midwest.  During these moments, we weren't Mother and Daughter, we were just two souls connecting in silence, twice a day, in the same spot to recharge for the next 12 hours.