“Covered Wagons”
Painting by F. Grayson Sayre
From puzzlehistory.com
white bonneted clippers
sailed waterless seas
where inert earthen waves
broached a treeless horizon
skies scumbled and streaked
by vermilions and lavenders
lifted from mountains
on sanctified clouds
hope charted their crossings
naively with eyes for
posterity ignorant
these lands were countries
loved ten thousand years
by great numbers of tribes
proud citizens-in-spirit
first native Americans
Writer Lynne Sargent
Poetry Puttering by Pax & Company
Sometimes everything has to be enscribed across the heavens so you can find the one line already written inside you. Sometimes it takes a great sky to find that small, bright, and indescribable wedge of freedom in your own heart. David Whyte
"drink from the well of your self and begin again" ~charles bukowski
no dust here
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Looking ahead, without looking back (too often)
flights of fancy from New Zealand
You're never alone, if you've something to share
All you touch and all you see / is all your life will ever be
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I am where the valleys are deep, the mountains are high, and the wind moans through trees...
Poesy plus Polemics 
Love the concept of a ‘treeless horizon.’
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I appreciate that
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Deserted memories of the past. Beautiful writing.
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much appreciated, owl
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Reblogged this on Poesy plus Polemics.
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You wrote this well, liked the subject and how you handled it.
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glad that it worked for you
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The making of a nation; the birth of the unique spirit of its people although I’m guessing Buffy St Marie would have a different take. Nonetheless a wonderful poem. One of my favourites I think.
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I feel deep affinity with our disenfranchised native Americans
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If one thinks about it in those early days it was both the Brits and the Spanish who planted the seeds and enacted the destruction of the natives. In many respects it is our fault not that of the generations of what was to become America.
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Reblogged this on OUR POETRY CORNER.
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thank you for sharing my poem with your readers
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This continues to be one of my faves. It actually seems to have the rhythm of those wagon trains–and there are so many great descriptive phrases, like “skies scumbled” and “sanctified clouds”. (That last reminds me of the story in the Old Testament, God, within a Cloud, leading the people by day.)
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I usually find a certain rhythm in my head when I write – but it doesn’t always come across
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You nailed this one.
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