Finally found the words.
The silence is carried by the wind
after the campaigns,
across the snow and stubble,
the silence is what remains,
after thunderclaps and hand claps,
the silence is the color
of the haunted sunset,
a home for the spirit world,
floating across the bald sky line,
finding residence in fallen barns,
finding a voice in the whisper
of a wind turbine,
Iowa's implement for
plowing something new,
the Colossus of our time,
with blades lashing
out of the horizon
in any event not at risk
of being attacked by
Don Quixote.
Poetry by Peter J. Kautsky
Read 1242 times
Written on 2017-02-21 at 15:14
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Iowa Eternal
The silence is carried by the wind
after the campaigns,
across the snow and stubble,
the silence is what remains,
after thunderclaps and hand claps,
the silence is the color
of the haunted sunset,
a home for the spirit world,
floating across the bald sky line,
finding residence in fallen barns,
finding a voice in the whisper
of a wind turbine,
Iowa's implement for
plowing something new,
the Colossus of our time,
with blades lashing
out of the horizon
in any event not at risk
of being attacked by
Don Quixote.
Poetry by Peter J. Kautsky
Read 1242 times
Written on 2017-02-21 at 15:14
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
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