FOLK COLLECTION 11: The Skaggs Foundation Cowboy Poetry Collection

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Book Title

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Pages

Author

Poem Title

First Lines

Keywords

Prairie Song A Meander Of Memory

FC 11 G-44

DW Groethe

Mid-June

Mid-June. Sun woke an hour ago to a damn cool dew damp reception. Ash, lilac, iris dripping with nary a nod, then morning slips he night clothes and dons a light breeze for the day's journey.

Prairie Song A Meander Of Memory

FC 11 G-44

DW Groethe

Somewhere in the Night

Somewhere, in the night, rain came. Not much (maybe thirty hundredths), but enough to trickle leaves clean of dust dun. Down and off to chapped patches of open earth, healing, sealing,

Prairie Song A Meander Of Memory

FC 11 G-44

DW Groethe

When I was a Child

When i was a child, in the faraway Fifties, all mothers had the same first name. There was Mrs. Grawe..Mrs.Shurdahl..Mrs. Marmon.. Mrs. Groethe..I have no recollection of that

Prairie Song A Meander Of Memory

FC 11 G-44

DW Groethe

My Mother's Quilt

My mother made a quilt. Three inch squares from scraps of homemade winter coats. A new one sewn every year for Lord only knows how many. I keep it in her grandfather's humpback steamer trunk till the trees,

Prairie Song A Meander Of Memory

FC 11 G-44

DW Groethe

The Moth

One sweet far summer night when I was quite between any age but naught..and thought the world was mine.. I saw the Moth. More than a hand's breadth. Beyond grasp. I stood stunned as if the Christ had returned.

Prairie Song A Meander Of Memory

FC 11 G-44

DW Groethe

On the Edge of Town

Where old yards and houses sit ramshackley kempt, chock to the rafters with memories dreamt. Where wild awaits, 'neath headges outgrown, patiently taking all back to its own. Eyes that are watching the nobody there,

Prairie Song A Meander Of Memory

FC 11 G-44

DW Groethe

5 a.m.

Sun trickles through ash and box elder, drops a glint of my cup rim and rouses shadows, from their night's rest, to the day's drifting.

Prairie Song A Meander Of Memory

FC 11 G-44

DW Groethe

Dregs of Memory

It is the dregs of memory wherein the muse wallows, willfully, joyfully slopping through forgotten caresses, rude confrontations, hard life and sweet situations

Prairie Song A Meander Of Memory

FC 11 G-44

DW Groethe

Words

I love you. Words. Like trinkets, won at the county fair, soon tossed and lost in the back of a drawer full of scattered memories occasionally rifled through

Prairie Song A Meander Of Memory

FC 11 G-44

DW Groethe

When The Waltz Lilts

When the waltz lilts it lifts the heart above the drudge of the day and hands it deftly to the keeper of dreams. So it seems. So, it waltz.

Prairie Song A Meander Of Memory

FC 11 G-44

DW Groethe

A Moment at the Fair

She moves like liquid grace. Every step smooth as silk sailing on the mere breath of a breeze...not an ounce of posturing, she's amber in motion, mellifluous warm,

Prairie Song A Meander Of Memory

FC 11 G-44

DW Groethe

Morning Coffee

Four thirty and twilight, peeping the horizon, begins lapping up the dregs of night shadow, still furtively lingering in the low reaches..but not for long.

Prairie Song A Meander Of Memory

FC 11 G-44

DW Groethe

Motes

Motes, in the sunstream, drifting, lolling twirling on unseen currents of random movements and restless thoughts. Motes, becoming dust, swept up and tossed off my porch, on and into silent beds of iris,

Prairie Song A Meander Of Memory

FC 11 G-44

DW Groethe

The Fledgling

Tentatively, at safety's edge, from deep within its ashen keep, the fledgling seeks an ancient pledge.. you cannot fly if you dare not leap.

Prairie Song A Meander Of Memory

FC 11 G-44

DW Groethe

I Dreamt of Hawks

I dreamt of hawks. Three on the breeze before me and one quietly brooding in the shadows of a long tree at the far end of the glen. One pair mottled dark, settled on fence posts nearby left, a third,

Prairie Song A Meander Of Memory

FC 11 G-44

DW Groethe

Will-o-the-Wisp

Fey in the night busy working a wedge, fussing their visions through rush and sedge. Ancient desires on a distant edge, beckoning will-o-the-wisp. Rising o'er fen in the evening haze, raising its head in a fireblue gaze.

Prairie Song A Meander Of Memory

FC 11 G-44

DW Groethe

Pan's Respite (a moment of solace)

shhh sighed the rain, stippling stone and leaf litter. shhhh comes the call, on a breeze light as breath. shhhh he sleeps. he sleeps...drowse as ye may. shhhh

Prairie Song A Meander Of Memory

FC 11 G-44

DW Groethe

Killin' the Wind

Up to here with its ceaseless scream, he calmly climbed out his bunk, loaded his pistol and strolled thru the door. Glacing up at the roiling skies he commenced shooting, willy-nilly, into the belly of the heavens.

Prairie Song A Meander Of Memory

FC 11 G-44

DW Groethe

The Ritual

Early. Out on the porch, his thumb and forefinger gently curled the can and tapped it curtly against the heel of his left hand. Twisting the lid, counter clockwise, (always counter clockwise) he pinched the ffirst drip of the day

Prairie Song A Meander Of Memory

FC 11 G-44

DW Groethe

Windbreak Nails

Might be, it's the wind works them out. Might be, the constant jostling of anxious cattle battering the weathered planks, pries and plucks them from their chores. Then again, after decades of overtime drudgery.. might be it's time for a break

Prairie Song A Meander Of Memory

FC 11 G-44

DW Groethe

Frustration

To the west, rain brooms, blue, in a butte~sweeping frenzy, settle dust and drown hopes of ever getting this damn hay put up.

Prairie Song A Meander Of Memory

FC 11 G-44

DW Groethe

On a Wheatfield in July

Sad. Like an old circus poster left hanging in the wind. Frayed and forlorn. A mere dust-muted hint of glory missed...Hope, here, is doled out in tenths of an inch.

Prairie Song A Meander Of Memory

FC 11 G-44

DW Groethe

Bunch Quitter

There's always one. can't take the wire I guess. Always, pushin' out and away. Cuss 'em in, it won't matter. turn your back..they're gone. somedays, sometimes, I get to watchin' the wire myself..wondrin'

Prairie Song A Meander Of Memory

FC 11 G-44

DW Groethe

September

gathering her greens. Sparsing out yellows and reds from her bag of tricks as a reminder the long, cold sleep is coming, coming, coming and you'd best be gathering greens of your own.

Prairie Song A Meander Of Memory

FC 11 G-44

DW Groethe

Tired

Of being on the edge of not quite there he hung up his rope for good, or ill, it did not matter for, once the winds blowed out, the empty of it all will kill you if you don't move on. That much he knew.