Tuesday, December 12

The Prairie-Poem

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The prairie is harsh in the fall of the year

In winter it kills, deer, maidens and men

It’s oft so damn flat, the winds gather speed

Like water downhill, or bankers to greed

In creek bed or hollow the buffalo hide

Break up the ice, lie down and die

The wolfs they come, No hell…they come not

Like Indians and Christians, done all of em shot

Is there gold in them hills, no hills here to find

Death due to starving, loneliness finds

We killed all the people, the nations and tribes

Skinned all the mammals, or all we could find

We built our great cities and lined them with gold

Gold from our feet, way down from below

Now nothing remains but cactus and shrub

Cattle and Jacks, high winds from above

We lie in our beds, make love to our wife’s

Our boys or our men, our sisters sometimes

We wait to grow up and then we wait to grow old

There’s no one to care, nobody I’m told

She waits for new lovers, new flesh and new bone

To embrace in deep silence, cold winter snows

Her winds mean to cut and her dust means to choke

She pummels and beats, till she strangles ones hope

With rains meant to drown and heat to burn coal

She scatters what’s left, flesh, bone and old souls

Cry if you must, lament if you will

The prairie is harsh in the fall of the year

In winter it kills, deer, maidens and men

Her winds bear but sorrow for those not prepared

The bold, the braggart, those who can’t loose

Step forward and gamble, the prairie, she’s yours

Her knees lightly open, her legs they will spread

Repeat what you’ve spoken, to her make your pledge

She’s waiting right now, for the prairie….she hears

Her husband won’t care, no, he too now is dead.

(c)2011 Tim Wilkinson & Wayne Wilks


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