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Ghosts from August Herds

10/20/2020

When wandering the back roads of the plains,
where waving grass makes way for corn and wheat,
secluded from the noise of speeding trains,
you leave behind the fractured asphalt street.
There, ghosts from august herds may yet remain,
the thunder almost felt beneath your feet
as native horsemen flush their bison prey,
and others force the herd in disarray.

An arrow in the heart, a bison spins
and promptly drops while others are pursued.
The chase complete, they load the meat and skins
to consummate their quest for warmth and food.
Tonight they celebrate, a feast begins,
and then the season's hunting will conclude.
At times the festival still breaks the hush
of evening plains among the sedge and brush.

Published in "The Dilettante's Garden" and "Eloquence"
by Jack Huber- All rights reserved

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Looking Over Your Shoulder

10/13/2020

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Work
can seep
into your
personal life,
friends and confidants
caution; you have to keep
looking over your shoulder.
Jealous co-workers are watching,
waiting for private indiscretions
to prove they, not you, deserve advancement.

They can't compete with your intelligence
or experience, so they conspire
to find your hidden skeletons.
Looking over your shoulder
can be a tiresome chore,
distracting you from
more important
concerns, with
little
gained.

Published in "Aspects Long Forgotten" and "Eloquence"
by Jack Huber- All rights reserved

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My Annie

10/6/2020

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I miss my Annie,
still aboard my sailing ship,
comforting and true,
leading us safely through fog.
No woman could measure up.

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Poem of the Week

Ghosts from August Herds

Looking Over Your Shoulder

My Annie

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