|
On the Wings of Tomorrow
by Lou Harper
January Poetry Feature
|
Wind of the Western Plain
Wind of the western plain comes sweeping
Mindless of man, and heedless of weeping
Endless blowing of the sand and debris,
The fierce winds raging, blowing wild and free.
With a vengeance they ever blow a gust
Choking us all with a powdery dust.
And, petitioning our God way up there,
Our imploring hearts all offer a prayer.
No rain, no relief, just these endless droughts
And everywhere, failing crops, hungry mouths.
When our children cry, my Martha will pray.
I say, "He will not hear you, anyway!"
We will not last for very much longer.
Oh Lord God, a man has to be stronger!
Will these awful winds never abate?
Has Jehovah designed this dreadful fate?
Terrible hardships, appalling to name
Befell pioneers of the western plain.
The droughts and winds destroyed all of their hope;
Those hot prairie winds, whenever they spoke.
Ever sleepless into the midnight hour,
They listened to the wind's awesome power.
It seemed to whisper to them, one and all
That Satan's retribution was its call.
And the new dawn revealed an earth so bare
That only a hawk's cry pierced the still air.
A cruel partnership there had been born
And now reviewed sharply in light of morn.
Of me, Martha, and our poor children's' fate,
Nothing left to see but a rusting gate.
Ruined and now useless, so there it stayed,
Revealing to all the high price we paid.
Few even remember that we lived there,
Or that in vain labor we did despair.
The future and dreams that we hoped to gain
Were defeated there on the western plain.
Moonlight on Snow
Across the meadowland once green,
With grasses swaying in the wind,
Pale moonlight falls on snow pristine.
Ice patterns shifting in the scene,
A beauty seen by nature penned
across the meadowland once green.
Here where the robins all convene
and, finding naught to eat, ascend,
Pale moonlight falls on snow pristine.
I stand and watch, with heart serene,
in moon's rays as a cherished friend
across the meadowland once green.
The moments pause, my thoughts careen
through dreams where some day time may wend.
Pale moonlight falls on snow pristine.
Upon this frozen landscape seen
Tomorrow's sweetest hopes to lend,
Across the meadowland once green,
Pale moonlight falls on snow pristine
Brother
Memories elusive, yet they are mine,
forgotten in all the struggles of time.
Clocks ticking, my agendas I must keep,
years go by quickly, with dreams buried deep.
Mirrors show me what I do not deny,
I am old, my steps are no longer spry.
Why did I bury childish hopes and dreams
that illuminated my golden schemes?
Life can often be lusterless and cold.
Shall we remember, now that we are old,
only our troubles and trials ten-fold?
Oh, let us capture wealth of spirit bold!
Trails of our childhood to follow once more,
where, on sun-dappled days, to shirk a chore,
and choose just what to do, and where to play.
Race you to the top of that hill! I say!
Bet you can not, you said, and bet a dime!
Beloved, tow-headed brother of mine.
I seldom won, or proved I was the best,
yet that memory so dear joined the rest.
Gentle in my mind, past times stand apart,
beloved and treasured, to warm my heart.
When life felt bad, and hope would not endure,
you were there, my big brother, strong and sure.
Oh, I see you now, the victim of time,
so weak and frail, next turn will be mine!
Shall we two meet our Creator Divine
together, or shall I follow in time?
No knowledge given of what God has planned
save for the promised love, forgiveness, and
joyful wanderings on the hills of light,
together with our loved ones in plain sight.
Whenever we depart this old realm here,
and we move on to the Heavenly Sphere,
I will want my mansion next door to you
as neighbor, friend, beloved brother, too.
And no doubt we might still scrap if we could,
just as we did back in days of childhood.
with God supervising you dare not bet
upon our races, I might beat you yet!
Beware!
Responsibility's dark lair
Awaits unwary souls
To catch them in a tangled snare
And block all exit holes.
Poet's Souls
I closed the book as tears began to fall,
Because I knew a soul was written there.
The words of pain and sorrow felt by all
Are those of understanding that we share.
It's true they're gone, yet left behind, their dreams
And hopes that linger long within our hearts
|
Secret of Zion
The hearthside fire has now gone out
those warming by its flames are gone.
My thoughts, once carefully devout,
return to tangle in the dawn.
The empty places mock my tears,
There is no time or place reserved
for honoring those former years,
'though in my heart so long preserved.
A family once young that grew
So old and perished like the dew
Now lives in memories, alone,
Their names carved deep in granite stone.
I walk upon that wind-swept hill
A place long silent, waiting, still.
Meeting of the Gods
This old world that I used to know
seems slowly changing with each day.
If all is lost, where will I go?
My faith is so hard to obey
when facing hatred's brutal play
and rubble lies beneath my feet.
I wonder who will choose the way
when Allah and Jehovah meet.
They are the same, it must be so,
yes, surely they are one, I say,
And guiding all men here below
to practice love and none betray.
Time brings us fears we can't allay
whenever we walk down the street.
Some day all men will kneel and pray
when Allah and Jehovah meet.
And some believe that they must go
to death in haste and not to stray
from causes seen as just. Now so
determinedly they're bound to stay
upon those courses which now lay
like yokes, and they wish to defeat
love's truth, a hostage held at bay
when Allah and Jehovah meet.
And when the truth, now growing gray,
to thinking men seems obsolete,
that proof of truth they can't betray
when Allah and Jehovah meet.
The Fog
Cold fog shapes halos for the trees;
one fears most things one never sees.
I feel an evil presence there
within the drifting evening breeze
God, please, just one good breath of air!
No guidelines on this dark estate,
unseen, fear walks with me tonight.
Once I am home fear will abate
when safely wrapped in blankets tight.
In terror, pulse is racing now,
the faintest light seen in the gloom
I stumble forward, move somehow
and find the way to my safe room
but will this haven bring me doom?
Abide, the Wind
I now feast on the Northwest wind,
futility, my constant friend,
tumultuous, raging deep within
and I weep now for every sin.
Tranquility achieved, then lost
because I couldn't pay its cost,
is thrown away; a stone I tossed
Aside.
Forsaking all, I chose my way
and sought a wisdom I'd obey.
I never questioned where it led,
albeit truth was never said.
There in my castle dream-design
the past resides in every line
where testimonies, un-benign,
Abide.
The Debt
A young boy with his thoughts held deep,
wished for a toy to own.
He wanted something he could keep
So he'd not feel alone.
No money spent for idle play,
He'd have to occupy
His time, somehow in his own way,
Diversions to supply.
They didn't mean to be unkind,
Depriving him of play,
Hard labor, their life had designed.
They'd known no other way.
Then one day, resting on a log
The boy heard faintest cries
And turning he beheld a dog,
Not yet full-grown in size.
He seemed to plead without a sound
To be allowed to stay.
The pup would follow him around,
'Though he was just a stray.
The boy's eyes shone with hopeful light
As he ran quickly home
To tell the news before the night
Spread blackness like a dome.
But it grew late, he lost his way,
And fell in a ravine.
As all light faded from the day
There came a cry so keen.
By lantern's glow they searched until
The piercing cry was near
And then they saw their son so still
Their hearts were filled with fear.
And tugging at him was a pup
That seemed too young to help.
Persistently, would not give up,
Continuing to yelp.
In time the rescue was achieved,
The pup became his pet.
And, that night everyone believed
To him they were in debt.
|
About
the Author
|
 |
Lou Harper started
writing in 1996. Since that time, she has been published several
times in Capper's Magazine (most recently April 15, 2002) and
has won or placed in state-wide contests for both poetry and prose.
Mrs. Harper is currently serving her third term as President of the
Southern Oklahoma Writer's Guild (SOWG) and is the poetry editor
for this magazine. You can find Lou Harper's short fiction and and
poetry at her website, including her recent poetry books called "Oklahoma Poetry"
and "Walking in the Mist," at her website.
|
