This Stream
This stream dreaming
of the bottomless light
found in the eyes of poets
who sip sangria
and dance for hours
on a firefly evening.
This stream dreaming, too,
of a mountain melody
moving toward the tall man
who carries sunflower seeds
in his overalls
and paints the leaping fish.
And yes, this stream still dreaming
of all the singing yet to come
when a certain blue-eyed child
who whistles with a blade of grass
returns barefoot and smiling
in a red dirt dress.
Darrell Lindsey, Nacogdoches
Dreams Don’t Turn Back
Dreams don’t turn back
‘cause folks say you lack
the glimmer of heaven’s door,
keep the visions keen
wipe the mirror clean
and doubt the source no more.
Dreams don’t be slack
‘cause some say you’ll turn back
to the way it’s been before,
carry golden beams
where they need to be
and blow me a kiss from the door.
Darrell Lindsey, Nacogdoches
Meadows
Ten thousand butterflies
come to comfort her
this heavy afternoon,
their splendor of colors
beckoning her to follow them
until she reaches that meadow
within herself
where old shadows lift,
and dreams float again
In all directions.
Darrell Lindsey, Nacogdoches
Dogwoods
Come spring, suddenly, dogwoods appear:
delicate white petals, close at hand or deep in woods
just for a moment.
Too soon white petals decorate the ground and
the trees disappear, one by one, until there are none.
We know, we know they are still there,
we know, we hope they will survive the withering summer and
bloom again for a moment next spring. I also have an article I’ll send along soon. It’s a bit about getting old (no surprise).
What else, who else, blooms for a moment,
seems to disappear,
is there if we have the eyes to see the heart-shaped leaves the reticulate bark, the delicate crown,
if we have the courage to walk deeper into the woods
to find them?
Ed Garcia, Callender Lake
Metamorphosis of Seasons
As the dark clouds fade away
And the sun comes into view
I think about the exquisite flowers
And the sky, oh so blue
From yellow daisies to red roses
The aroma of the buds fills the air
The sweetening smell like sugar
I can do nothing but just sit and stare
The sky filled with swirling colors
From purple, to blue, to white
And changing to orange and yellow
As I stare into the ebony night
As the cold weather dances away
And warm springs into the sky
The children are filled with unending joy
Because they know spring fever will never die!
Kelsey Kempson,
Texarkana Pleasant Grove Middle School,
written in 8th grade
