Monday, 5 August 2013

3 Poems by Tom Pickerill

Highway 81

The landscape ahead of me lay flat and brown
Hills seem more like creases in the earth
That a once tight surface has given to age.
Dried creeks are lines cut from happier times
Like laughter’s memories in the corner of mouths
Worn in old cheeks from times of abundance
Poured from the sky
Now though
Now they lay sandy and hollow.
Forgotten under bridges and between fields.
All that springs from the land around are signs.
Green markers signaling a break in the open country
With town names that stick in your teeth and throat
Like the field dirt surrounding them kicked up on windy days
Offers of gas stations and grain elevators entice me to stop
As I pass
Further south I am Beckoned
Further south I glide

THE QUESTION

I was asked to think about God today
So I thought
I thought of depth and breadth
I thought of endlessness and the dusty beginnings of man
I thought of all these fancy verbal trimmings.
Thinking in magnitude and not of the personal
I did not immediately recall those moments
Those moments at the lake
I felt life all around me, I felt peace
I felt God
I did not recall the joy of truth
Moments when I have truly learned something and see the world in fresh new eyes
I felt wisdom
I felt God
It is the personal relationships that matters most.
That is where his greatest treasure lay
Growing and becoming, cleansing and creating
His image

FALL MORNING

I think of winter as a slow moving beast
Crawling south leaving a trail of frost in it’s wake
Lumbering closer
Announced in colored leaves and fleeing waterfowl.

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