Sense of Loss

 At last, I've put a finger

Firmly on a strange feeling

Before now I couldn't identify

When one sees pictures of hieroglyphs

Or tours a grand home from the previous century

Or as now when I carefully sift through

What is left of my parent's long life together.

Or when I see where a railroad track was removed

Or a one room schoolhouse standing in ruin. 

What is this feeling so sad and so dear

It is the profound 'sense of loss.'

I feel we are losing the ability to be simple and free

I feel we are losing our basic survival instincts

To a mountain of plastic nothingness.

Our virtues are tied to commercial holidays

Our emotions milked with well designed ploys

We rely on calculators as we rely on this nothingness

To chart our lives as emptiness drives so many

Out of their minds.

No stability thrives, as security hides 

From the amplified chaos the nothingness breeds

Can one construct from what's left

A life to preserve and use what others would refuse

In solitary satisfaction that these were correct actions

Are these surviving objects futile or essential clues?

-Kelly Voelker

Marestail - A Poem

Marestail (Horseweed) 

In a world of poisons

I stand and flourish

I will adapt quickly

I will grow through

Difficult conditions

Drought and flood

With enduring vitality

I offer my healing to you

As a simple cup of tea

I am going nowhere

No matter what

I will come back 

I will always be here

Take some comfort in that.

-Kelly Voelker

                                                          

Tentatively Touching the Same Little Path

The repetition of soft little feet

From rabbits patrolling the fenceline in Spring

Before colors green emerge in the field

Tentatively touching the same little path

Small meandering trails from their entrance

To tall brown dry grass over which 

Snow never visited

Shunning the ground as the wind made harsh

The rest of the field our rabbits avoided

Nestling under the large strong spruce fortress

Last year's dry grass agreed to stay 'round

Escorting the rabbits until warmth can be found. 

-Kelly Voelker

The Four Deer

They cut through the rows

Of the cornfield in front

They ran past the mailbox

Leapt over the fence

They ignored the light poles, borders and went

Like ghosts from the wild past

Disregarding our ways

The four deer will always

Transcend and amaze.

-Kelly Voelker

What's Next?

 So, what's next?

As the story is done

We've turned all the pages

And processed the fun,

The entanglements freed

The intentions were good

The misguided actions dismissed

Knock on wood

So what lies ahead

After shedding our skin

Who is this creature 

Now loose and prepared

For anything new

Just a little bit scared.

-Kelly Voelker

My Favorite People

What fills me with love and adoration about those in my life, is not what they look like or anything grand.

It's the way they fold clothes or the grace of their hands.

It is their manner of movement when looking away and alone, doing the things they don't think about shown.

It's their phrases that came out without much thought and habits which pointed towards order and home.

 The way they prepare for their bed and their days, the way they make food and direct their dismay.

Some is contrived towards living a good life.  Some is a natural response all unique that makes them my favorite people I think.

-Kelly Voelker

Breaking Icicles

 The tufts of summer's foliage

Add depth to the shallow innocence  

Of a temporary snow soon fleeting

As the blush of the dawn heats

Past Venus and melting streets

There and then will reality set in

As fun or dreary as I decide to elongate

The fair truth of any moment as this one waits

For me to decide how deep will 

Joy trickle before it's stopped by 

The icicles of yesterday's beauty

And the perceived bleakness 

Of today's emotional weakness.

-Kelly Voelker