That still lives today on Christmas cards all packed up now? Is that so?

Would the lamps that light the pathways put a glow upon her face?

Are these images of fantasies all gone without a trace?

Is she staring from the window of a house, with fascination,

And now totally enthralled by crystal clear precipitation,

Lightly falling down, to make the grass a darker shade of green,

And still willing for the happiness she sought at sweet sixteen?

Is she smiling in the sunshine of the inner city skylines;-

Looking pretty as a photograph unsuited to the bylines

All contained inside newspapers circulating with great speed?

Is she reaching for the clouds, and hoping that she’ll soon be freed?

Could she be a long lost princess, well-concealed within the fog?

Is she now beyond her thirties, and yet free to kiss the frog,

Thus transforming him into the prince he’d never ceased to be;

And especially if that prince of hers is someone just like me?

Is she free of all commitments made before the time was right,

And now open to her destiny in silent streets one night,

To become that part of me, which I have yet to find for sure,

That soft part that fills the void, so there can be no need for more?

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at LADY FROM SOMEWHERE ELSE.

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at truck driving in the usa.

 Trees decked out in Joseph’s coat

Reds, yellows, orange, rust, green

And every hue in between.

 Leaves dancing and fluttering in the wind

 Drop to earth

In a dizzy spin.

This wonderful display

Is short lived.

Winters winds will soon move in,

 Earth takes on a

Different glow

With the arrival of first white snow.

Bundle up and brave the cold

Use both hands

Your hat to hold.

Quickly scurry to where

You’re going

Because the winds are

Coldly blowing.

Hurry home where the fire glows.

It will toast your frozen toes.

Have yourself a nice

Hot toddy

It will quickly

Warm your body.

Slip off your shoes

Turn the TV on

 Watch the news.

Sleepily walk up the stairs

For your nightly snooze.

Say your prayers

 jump into bed.

Let the winds howl

And scream

While you enjoy

 Some pleasant dream.

Thomas Fenning

10/22/04

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at Autumn.

Fantasize

Let your thoughts go wild

Bring back your memories,

Your thoughts as a child.

Ride the range on a bucking bronc’

Drive a race car at Daytona Park.

Climb snow covered mount Kilimanjaro.

Fly high aloft in a gas filled balloon

Going higher and higher almost touching the moon.

Sail the seas in a four mast schooner

Circling the earth, catching large tuna.

Ride a motorcycle, jump over high dunes

Hearing the motor moaning zoom zoom.

These are the pleasures of youth

Before growing older

And

Discovering the truth.

Tom Fenning Friday,

July 17, 2009

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at Fantasize.

Have you ever considered?

How fortunate you are

To gaze at the sky

And see a star,

And say to yourself

I wonder how many there are?

To walk through a garden

And smell the rose.

Skip through dewy grass

In your bare feet and toes

Before the sun arose?

 Take long walks on

A crisp fall day.

Build a snowman

On a cold wintry night

Giving him eyes of coal

And a nose carrot bright.

Swim in a creek

On a warm summers noon.

Ride a roller coaster

At a county fair,

Or spin in a Ferris wheel

And view the world from the air.

 Ride in a convertible,

With wind ruffling your hair.

Build a sandcastle

In a secluded cay

Only to have a wave

 Wash it away.

Go deep-sea fishing

On a party boat

Only to return home

With an empty tote.

Explore the bright moon

Lighting the sky at night

Wondering what it would be like

To go they’re in flight.

Watch an Eagle soar high in the sky

Floating on air currents

And wondering how and why,

Then suddenly

Swoop down

And snatch its prey

It saw from so far away.

Tom Fenning

2004

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at Fortunate.

The news came from Washington,
right from the wire-
“Feed-the-poor-pheasants!” like
a prairie on fire!
John found a pheasant, its last
strength was shorn,
And it died in his hand, too late
to eat corn!

The pheasants get such a sad
gleam in their eyes,
When they take the last look, at
the wide open skies!
They can’t dig through snow, a
few weed-seeds forlorn,
And all that they need, a few
handfuls of corn!

The big Soil Bank acres, that’s
where they lay,
The snow is so deep, and they
can’t get away!
You find the big holes they dug,
struggling along,
With nothing to eat, and the
strawpiles are gone.

The spring-days are only a short
ways away–
The brook will be singing, where
soft breezes play:
The grainfields will wave, as the
warm wind goes by:
But not for the bird who looked
last at the sky.

They once were so happy, the
summer-days made
“A Garden of Eden!” in sunshine
and shade,
They died in a snowdrift, for-
saken, forlorn,
When no one came down the
road, bringing them, corn.

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at “Save the Pheasants”.

When prairie winds blow as the winter goes by
She sleeps there alone without me
And my fiddle keeps singing of a long ago summer
like the leaves in the cottonwood tree
Tho youth has gone by
And the young days are gone
Then she is here- with my fiddle and me
And we still are singing of the bright days of summer
The young girl and the fiddle and me

The last days of summer
When i was a young man
And her daddy asked me “when are you gunna wed?
I looked away across the snow, and I told him-
and i might-
“I’ll get a fiddle instead.”

Now the years have gone by
And the young days are gone
And the fiddle still hangs around with me
And the young girl is sleeping alone on the prairie
in her grave by the cottonwood tree

I remember the day and the cranky old man
and the girl who was still seventeen
and my fiddle keeps singing of a long ago summer
of school days and the sunshine and beam
Oh the years have gone by and the young days are gone
there are the songs on the prairie for me and the young girl is sleeping
thirty years along by the cottonwood tree

This was a pupil of mine when I was a teacher. I was her teacher fifty years ago.

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at Last Night of Seventeen.

John had been out here at HOME, in Dakota, and head seen the bundle-stacks,
and the HOBOS pitching them in the machine, and these bundles were the
“MEMORIES OF SUMMER”……

My heart, O it’s not in the city…..
With its crowds, moving where, no one knows!
It is out on the plains….that are pretty………
With their winds….and their storms……and their snows!

Its out where the sunsets are gleaming!
In purple, and russet, and gold!
And the freedom is great as is told in
The tales of the VIKINGS of old!

Its out where “THE MEMORIES OF SUMMER”
DO STAND IN THE TRAIL OF THE BO-
Who comes with his pitchfork, and “hummer”- (little tune he hums)
AND STAYS TILL THE NORTHERNERS blow! (NORTHERLIES)

THE PRAIRIES…..THE PRAIRIES ARE CALLING!
Me back to my horse and my plow-
AND IT’S THERE THAT MY BUNK I’LL BE HAULING
AS…..SOON…..AS….THE….FATES….WILL….ALLOW!

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at Memories of Summer.

A hundred FARMERS came to town-
With pockets full of daugh-
But….ther was Lewis…..when they turned aroun-
An…….they had to let em go!

Ya……there was “Lewis” when they looked aroun-
BLACK SUIT AN BOOTS TO MATCH-
An they wished that they had stayed at home-
By their own little garden patch!

TWENTY THREE HEIFERS…the truck pulled up…
They LOADED em…to the last bone….
The LEWIS climbed in with his Stetson Hat-
And…..drove through the snow…..ALONE!…..

O it could be there are better days-
And SKIES MORE RAINBOW FAIR!
But….you’ll never know that a thrill it was-
‘CAUSE THE “DOUBLE E” WAS THERE!

Yaaaa…… the snow came down an started to blow-
It was bad as a blizzard could be-
But THE SALE WAS ON, and he HAD to go,
HE WAS “LEWIS” ….of the “Double E”.

How much do you think these CATTLE cost?
A FULL EIGHT THOUSAND DOWN!…………
But worth it all…. can you HEAR EM BAWL?

As they HAULED EM OUT OF TOWN!

They had BOT THE CATTLE and YEESESKRIST
They had to get em home-
I think that LEWIS got his ears froxe off-
Five hundred miles from HOME!

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at LEWIS OF THE DOUBLE E!.

Its out where the stacks of the harvest
Once stood in the trail of the “Boo”-
Who came humming along with his PITCHFORK;
And….stayed till the NORTHERLEES BLOW!

Its out where the SUNSETS ARE GLEAMING-
In purple and russet and GOLD!
And I’m THERE, tho I know I am dreaming-
ONLY DREAMS, OF THE GLAD DAYS OF OLD!

Its a WIDE PRAIRIE LAND, and its calling-
Me back to my TRACTOR and PLOW;
And I know it will ALWAYS BE MY LAND…..
THE HOME OF MY HEART, IN THE HILLS.

Where the wild flowers bloom, in the Springtime-
And the “thunder heads” roll in the WEST;
And the moonlight comes stealing and stealing
Through the night, from those old SKIES OF DREAM!

YOU may think I was “making a poem”-
I am NOT…..I AM WEAVING A SONG-
Like the songs that the wind sang in summer,
To the heart of a child…. ALL DAY LONG!

The roses still bloom in the wheatfield-
And the WEST is a bright sea of gold-
Tho I try, Oh I know I can’t tell you-
ALL THESE STORIES…My Memories Told!

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at Home of the Hills.