Thre Prairie--where I once lived

Midwest, the Plains, short and tall grasses
Where the winds insistently blow and blow,
With a sound whistling high as the sun hanging low
Shining a high-altitude light on the prairie,
Where the buffaloes once roamed, and still are at home,

And the wheat and 🌽 corn sprout and grow

While sunflowers bloom,
Here or there above the grass we see
A lonely bush or tree--
And far to the West
Carved out of the mountainside 
Faces of times past:
Washington, Jefferson, Teddy Roosevelt,
And Lincoln--four presidents
Look forever over a sun-colored land;
Once it belonged to someone else,
Native, American, livelihood for whom
Meant rivers and forest and grassland in between--
Also the badlands--now a stunning
National Park--all rich in history, theirs and ours.
After harvest the autumn colors
Give the fields and grass a golden hue,
Pheasants frightened by the hunters, hide; 
Large birds, whether hawk or eagle rule the sky--  
The wolf staked out his own space.
Rain occasional keeps the dark soil fertile,

Tornadoes can suddenly appear,
And winter--well, winter brings its fearsome squalls,
And snow drifting on snow, buries all.
The inhabitants, they are a solitary people
But always ready to give
A helping hand to neighbor or stranger--
This is called the land of the wide prairie!

The prairie

Midwest, the Plains, short and tall grasses
Where the winds insistently blow and blow,
WIth a sound whistling high as the sun hanging low
Shining a high-altitude light on the prairie,
Where the buffaloes once roamed, and still are at home,
And the wheat and 🌽 corn sprout and grow
While sunflowers bloom,
Here or there above the grass we see
A lonely bush or tree--
And far to the West
Carved out of the mountainside 
Faces of times past:
Washington, Jefferson, Teddy Roosevelt,
And Lincoln--four presidents
Look forever over a sun-colored land;
Once it belonged to someone else,
Native, American, livelihood for whom
Meant rivers and forest and grassland in between--
Also the badlands--now a stunning
National Park--all rich in history, theirs and ours.
After harvest the autumn colors
Give the fields and grass a golden hue,
Pheasants frightened by the hunters, hide; 
Large birds, whether hawk or eagle rule the sky--  
The wolf staked out his own space.
Rain occasional keeps the dark soil fertile,
Tornadoes can suddenly appear,
And winter--well, winter brings its fearsome squalls,
And snow drifting on snow, buries all.
The inhabitants, they are a solitary people
But always ready to give
A helping hand to neighbor or stranger--
This is called the land of the wide prairie!

The moon leaps

slender grasses,
a breeze on the riverbank,
stars hang
all across a vast plain,
the moon leaps...
a solitary duck--still

I have seen Mount Fuji after a storm

I have seen Mount Fuji
after a storm had hit
the surrounding land,
and the waters of the ocean
were covered with debris, --
after the turbulence
stillness set in, and
the air was clear,
as I flew over it
on my way to Tokyo.

Landscape broods

A landscape broods
Solemnly in the distant dark.

Tall foreboding trees abide
Heavy laden with snow -- as if waiting.

A hut nestled near the forest,
Moonlight hidden by the dark--
A man lightly dressed walks the wet path
Holding an umbrella high above himself,
He moves towards a humble snow-covered dwelling.

All is still ... hauntingly!
Nothing, nothing echoes in the solitude,
Except the sound of wet snow
Aching under the man's quick-moving feet.
He--a wanderer humming
A light tune in the night,
His mind made clear
As if a limpid pool in every
Lake and stream to holy chants.

I love the light from the inner lamp!
Guarding us from the flatteries
Of a passionate, worldly man.

Poem by Eva-Maria Hogrefe ✍️