it is writ on my heart
the sacrifices
we’ve made for her
the blessings
received for defending her

1.
sailing into the unknown
for a chance at freedom
landing in her arms -
her lush starkness, both
frightening and alluring -
to feel it and know it

2.
surviving the sacrifices of the
first year
as strangers in a strange land
gratitude for blessings
from the wilderness
which was full of woods,
huntable, edible creatures, and
plants that heal

3.
her soaring beauty and roughness
the generous giving of her indigenous peoples
the challenges to survival and
the support of survival,
both given freely, balanced in wildness
and by wildness

4.
the feeling of belonging growing daily
nurtured in courageous living
the feeling of fulfillment bursting
like fireworks across many lives
a land developed by and for originality
a land that develops its peoples in physical
strengths and heartfelt works

5.
the gathering of genius that made victory
inevitable when defending was needed
a deeper understanding created by unrelenting
challenges to survival from all angles
a grinding unstoppable to the
pioneer spirit bred in the bone, to the bone,
in the marrow of bone


c. 2025 Roberta Compton Rainwater

I was listening to roller skating tunes.
Yes, I am shallow, sir.
And though thou may say villainess or mistress,
I am content to be who I am.
One noon, we were over dull
and our hearts we serviced
like two thieves there
in the kissing place
where breaths are both as one
and the first of many kisses doubles.
He made vows in mine ear.
He has such hands and lips
and his fortunate nature fed mine eyes
oh, nothing was scarce.
Our horns locked together
with the intensest chutzpah
and we well-made our match.
We sparked feelings we all ascribe to heaven.
I would not tell you
I can serve a man
that by slow designs
men can melt.
He swore oaths
and dropped
half won.
Later he paid
the sweetest
after-debts
—he did owe it.
.
.
songs for this:
Find Me the Pulse of the Universe by Laetitia Sadier
Stormy (Bossa Mix) by S-Tone Inc

The snow is thawing on the field
its white perfection turning brown
as mud and sleet become congealed.
The snow is thawing on the field
and ochre footsteps are revealed
from Milley’s paw pads pressing down.
The snow is thawing on the field
its white perfection turning brown

crisp brown leaves
on white ground–
pristine

Azure tears fall from her cloudy face.
Depression leaving an inky trace.
She feels thick eyebrows of despair.
Cherry lips are now no longer happy
but pout down in ****** flair.
Curls are now strait in her hair.
There's no illusion everyone
wants to leave her.
There is no shock leaving
a lemony after taste.
Yet no sugar for her ultimate despair.

Letters of revelry were coming from
a unknown knight.
Mortification singed his lies
in the untimely light.
She tested his love by saying
there was none.
No surprise that he left
her cloudy and alone.
The end came in the letter that left
dark dread all around.
Inky sadness makes a dreary sound.

She now hides in a golden cave.
Woodpeckers drill a sign saying
knights aren't able to save.
Waves are always billowing
over the sunny path that she is
trying to engrave.
Clouds hide and protect her from the world.
Her dreams are like cotton packing.
Someday the sun will rise in her cloudy face.
She will find a surprise king to take his place.

Whaler's wives have risen for their husbands,

lost at sea, then hastened from that churchyard,

and to December's beach.

To keep once more the widow's

watch, so wistfully they waited,

with flagging hopes and splintered hearts,

and rainfall on their prayer books.

Then tears upon their caskets,

laid low beneath that hallowed ground.