everything being a constant carnival

She rode sixteen ferris wheels

in one afternoon,

each one spinning

faster than the last.

Synchronized revolutions

of light and motion

left her shaken and wobbly.

She stumbled into an open field

where an old oak waited

to offer her refuge.

She was cradled in his

knotted limbs,

her head against

his coarse bark.

She begged to stay for 300 years,

there in the shady respite.

But as she slept the sounds of the

carnival plagued her rest.

Frenzied screams of terror

or delight interrupted

her dreams.

Unable to sleep she

left the comfort of the oak

and staggered drowsily

back to the fray,

back to the wild rides.

Buying sixteen more tickets,

and with a nod to the moon,

she mounted the ride,

braced herself against the side

and began to spin again...

poem and photo copyright 2009 Rhonda Prince

Angels Wings

I can hear the rustle of angel wings through the Wind in the night

Whispers of them I see their strength in the moonlight.

In the night their songs of deliverance through the Wind I hear

And then I know the rustle of them I hear them draw near.

In the wisp of each I feel their brush close by my side

As in the strength in their shadows that covers me in them I hide.

As through the snow that now falls outside of my window I see them lift

As feathers that are in the night I hear them as they shift.

I can now see their beauty as I watch them in their new freedom found

Again in the night I hear them surround and I hear their rustling sound.

As they draw near I hear them again lift and guard me as they uphold

I can hear angels as they in the safety of His divine provision unfold.

I find in the snow the beauty of angels in the shadows the spread of their wings

As their they drift I find the provision in the night through all things.

I now hear outside the window the sound of them rustling in the Wind

Around me they surround me as in the night in safety as they now open and bend.

poem copyright 2008 Cheryl Zweigart

photo copyright 2009 BRowland

mar adentro

Count your blessings,
he scolded me sternly
Stop complaining.
Remember how easy
your life is…

But still the waves
swell and surge.
Dark clouds drape
the eastern sky.
The colors of the sea
fading as I
am carried further
from the shore.

text and photo copyright Rhonda Prince 2009

Heartland

Heartland

It’s hard to do justice to the Missouri

corn fields that stand everywhere and forever

their endless rows of sturdy, erect stalks

whispering sweet corny nothings in our collective ear.

This simple plant that fed our emerging species

-saved it really with its eagerness to flourish-

left time for the growth of art and music

governments and corruption

and sustains us still,

will be there when all else fails.

It’s hard to do justice to the insistent

Missouri crickets,

-or are they grasshoppers and cicadas-

that incessantly holler and screech

their urgent warnings, predictions,

advice, and pleadings

whether we heed them or not.

And the moisture!

Heavy veils of dampness

cocooning all the rest of it,

urging the grasses to grow

as thick and rich as carpet,

blades as wide as a thumb,

roots a tangled, jumbled mess.

A kernel of himself knowing

just how and where to do it,

my city-loving son has taken himself

to this land of corn

and crickets and watery air

to grow.

It’s hard to do justice to my feelings of

gratitude and amazement

that he has chosen a place of palpable growth

- a heartland –

to sustain himself

to heed his own warnings

to grow tall and thick and sturdy

to root himself in his own tangled, jumbled mes s.

poem copyright 2009 Ruth Hudgens

photo copyright 2009 BRowland

healing forest

demolition of the polluter

may the water bring it down

may the water bring it down

may the water bring it down

right now

may the water wash it away

may the water wash it away

may the water wash it away

in time

may we live to see it so

may we live to see it so

may we live to see it so

amen

text copyright Ruth Hudgens 2009

photo copyright BRowland 2009

the polluter