Cassandra Tondro

Cassandra Tondro

The old sage`brush
has gone its pale green
to its brittle brown gray
the south`wind pushing
its stems from the roots
well after dry blossoms
sailed down`stream

It rolls now as then
across a barren prairie
catching rusty barb`wire
strung by some cow`poke
long ago dead and buried
on some lonely boot`hill
under a branded cross

Thunder`heads so roll
across the breathless sky
without fences they collide
zig`zag streaks of electricity
stabbing the parched brush
waiting like funeral`pyres
a waste`land set to fire

‘Til with the spring`rain
charred roots which remain
stir like she`bears in the caves
first a shoot and then the leaves
the waste`land that was revives
a garden in all its elastic glory
to await the summer`wind

“Art is not an escape, but a way of finding order in
chaos, a way of confronting life.” ~ Robert Hayden


About Peter Notehelfer

I'm a retired people person who now finds the time to watch the little details of the world without worrying about being watched by anyone . . . I live on an Island north of Seattle with my wife named Ellen, a yellow dog named McGee, a yellow cat named Gatzby, and four fine chickens . . . I read fiction, bake bread, smoke salmon, and fish whenever the weather allows . . . Oh, and yes, I try to write a poem every day simply to avoid senility!
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3 Responses to Summer`Wind

  1. Sinatra couldn’t have sung it better

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Beautiful imagery :)


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