Finally found the words.

Iowa Eternal

The silence is carried by the wind
after the campaigns,
across the snow and stubble,
the silence is what remains,
after thunderclaps and hand claps,
the silence is the color
of the haunted sunset,
a home for the spirit world,
floating across the bald sky line,
finding residence in fallen barns,
finding a voice in the whisper
of a wind turbine,
Iowa's implement for
plowing something new,
the Colossus of our time,
with blades lashing
out of the horizon
in any event not at risk
of being attacked by
Don Quixote.

Poetry by Peter J. Kautsky
Read 687 times
Written on 2017-02-21 at 15:14

dott Save as a bookmark (requires login)
dott Write a comment (requires login)
dott Send as email
dott Print text

Ann Wood The PoetBay support member heart!
Nice poem

Rob Graber
Beautiful, encouraging, inspiring!

Nice imagery! So much silence that I can feel it.

Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Well done. I used to have to drive from Nebraska to Saint Paul to visit my daughter. During winter, I saw the silence and haunted sunsets. That time of year, Iowa has a stark, melancholy beauty.