American Prairie
Wisconsin’s prairie blooms in green
with occasional glimmers of silver grass
shivering in soft breezes and
pierced by deep violet clover
Dead trees, grey and
stalkstill as gravestones,
still force a new branch or two
The root of Jesse sprung anew
They refuse to give in to death
Stubborn as Midwesterners,
tough; hard to break, tenacious
Never say die
As daylight wanes and red sets,
we cruise Route 69
Around every bend,
a simple feast of foraging
© 2013 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
At Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Marian introduced us to the music of Tim Eriksen, a uniquely American folk artist, and asked us to conjure poems that reflect Americana. This morning, I would have been stumped, but as luck would have it, we took a day trip to New Glarus (yeah, our favorite brand of beer is made there, and oh, did we have a bit of fun!) and marveled at the breadth of the prairie grasses. Verdant, vibrant, strumming those heartstrings like Tim’s guitar, here in the breadbasket of America. I am so proud to live in Wisconsin (except for the politics, which we took a day off from monitoring for peace of mind).
Peace, Amy
Sharp Little Pencil 