Black sketches in my minds eye.
Ink flows into rain, clouds, crows.
A pen my hand won’t hold,
A line my soul won’t write.
An artist eye looks out of my scarred face.
The beating of the rain clutches at me
With hands of stick figures and dust.
I am stilled.
I am stopped.
I am half of me.
The inky black crow flies on
Leaving my eye smudged, and longing.
An autumn moon shone overhead,
The shadowed trees filled with dread.
Out of darkness came a howl,
Fur and fang from inside cowl.
During daylight hours Morning Star shone,
When night came down she ran alone.
Shedding clothes and skin and manners within.
Shedding good and evil and all of her kin.
Morning Star! The people would wail.
Dog and horse led to a bloody trail.
Out of home, out of time,
She runs on two to find her kind.
Morning Star! Her sister spoke,
Her brothers arrows armed and broke.
Morning Star! Run to wilderness run,
On four paws away from sun.
Morning Star! The pack has claim,
And nothing will ever be the same.
Run with wolves, a Midnight Star,
Run with wolves to reaches far.
A skinwalker newly made inside out
Morning Star, Morning Star, the people shout.
But none of her was left to hear,
Black fur for hair, claws for spear.
Morning Star to Midnight Star under autumn moon.
Midnight Star, the hunters come for you soon.
Spring in Kansas.
It doesn’t come in softly.
It roars in with the wind and rain beating against a steel roof, washing into the old soddies and stone,
Clearing out winter in one giant breath.
The change comes within a week,
From dry dead, brown, to startling green, an emerald landscape of winter wheat.
The emerald isle has nothing on Kansas in the Spring.
Then the color starts, red buds against glorious green fields
and thunderous skies, a painters dream uncaptured.
And forsythia, the first blooms, beautiful and stark.
Crocus, daffodil and dandelion crowning the ground with gold.
The trees, bare of leaves, burst forth with flowers in shades of white and pink and the magnolias burst forth, ready to fly off the tree.
Our mighty cotton wood, drooping with frills that will become light catching tufts in the early summer sun as the leaves murmur their constant song, piling like snow in the heated streets.
Thunder rolls as lightning strike turning day into night with hail filled clouds and twisters striking like Greek gods, angry and awesome.
Creeks flood and clear the way for tadpoles and crawdads in streams and pools.
Spring comes, the earth warms, we all wake and stretch and wait for the sunflowers to do the same, yearning to the summer sun.
Along an icy road she walked
Alone at night in the winter wind
Along an icy road she walked
Away from all her kith and kin.
Her memories she ran away from
A woman past the age called young
In her mind there was just one,
“Magician” the name upon her tongue.
It whispered into the wind where no one hears
Along an icy road near the end
“Magician” upon her heart stained with tears
Along a memory near a bend.
The name of love lost to time?
The name of enemies long ago?
Or just a word from her mind,
From a tale of both love and woe.
Along an icy road she lay
Last breath frozen on her cheek
Along an icy road in May
No more words will she speak.