Tag Archives: poet

5-29-17


In Flanders Fields
In Flanders fields the poppies blow

Between the crosses, row on row, 

That mark our place, and in the sky, 

The larks, still bravely singing, fly, 

Scarce heard amid the guns below. 
We are the dead; short days ago

We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow, 

Loved and were loved, and now we lie

In Flanders fields. 
Take up our quarrel with the foe! 

To you from failing hands we throw

The torch; be yours to hold it high! 

If ye break faith with us who die

We shall not sleep, though poppies grow

In Flanders fields.
Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae

1915

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4-30-17


woodsmoke smells of home

when the clean-up leads

to brush burning

renewal and a fresh outlook

but it clings to your clothes

your hands and hair

you watch it trickle away

down the shower drain.

late at night dreams reveal 

tall flames, fire licking 

the ink black sky

while smoke stings the eyes

and obscures the countless stars.
© Erik Hansen 2017

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4-29-17


Pink and white

apple blossoms 

smile through the green

while the scent of lilacs

dressed in purple royalty 

is carried on the breeze.
© Erik Hansen 2017

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4-28-17


walking the dirt track in

plowed fields all around

revealed in the dim light

I stop

to double check for everything

calls, shells and gloves

anticipation building

for a colorful, strutting tom.
© Erik Hansen 2017

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4-27-17


the deer feed slowly

moving across the hillside

unnoticed by most.
© Erik Hansen 2017

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4-26-17


off and on 

drizzle becomes rain

becomes drizzle again

the wind pushes the clouds

across our moisture laden

horizons

the skies as dark

as your hair.

© Erik Hansen 2017

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4-25-17


Rain pocks the slow flowing

surface of the river

its low murmur

speaks to the many

whirlpools that spin themselves out on their way downstream.

© Erik Hansen 2017

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4-24-17


a hand reaches out 

with food across a fire

witness this act

long after the hunt 

and the final meal is offered

to the animal itself

in this time honored

denouement.

© Erik Hansen 2017

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4-23-17


breathe it in

wood smoke, turned earth

manure spread upon the fields

listen

the birdsongs from the brambles

a tractor grumbles in the distance

see it all played out

different 

yet the same.
© Erik Hansen 2017

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Filed under Creative Writing, Edges, outdoors, Poetry, Writing

4-21-17


soft spoken whispers

promises made to be broken

ash is the color

love leaves

in the aftermath.
© Erik Hansen 2017

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Filed under Creative Writing, Edges, Poetry, Writing