1 0 1

To Daughters of the Western Shore

The colors run, an ocher sun,

Makes paces from an eastern sea.

The flower and the thistle both,

Arise to greet the lady's hand.

The skies alight, with joy and fright,

As all new seasons we first see.

The lover and the mother both,

Arise to track the eastern sands.

The brothers and their fathers run,

A race to summer, shame, and proof.

Their lovers and their mothers both,

Arise to cheers or grief-wrung hands.

The ponies run, the girls are young,

The odds are there to beat the frost.

Grown kin, mothers, fathers both,

Arise from knees to tend swelled lands.

Yet first snow falls, chill winds yet run, 

The western moon alights, aglow.

Arise to meet the sun again,

To feed the suns and season's sands.

What's young, now old. What's old, to seed.

What's said, bound into songs we know.

And diamond snows hide colors past,

And steps swallowed from eastern sands.



Prompt: An equestrian anonymous asked me:

"The ponies run, the girls are young, the odds are there to beat."

Ah, for youth again... it was this or My Little Pony fanfic. Dash > you.

(C) 2013 Lawerence Hawkins

1 0 1


Four blank walls
clutch corners
around a young boy
sitting on a clock.

A shard of glass
spins shimmering
in the air above him,
sending light-waves
skipping across
his face,

and each time
he reaches for it,
his hands bleed
on the whirling edges.

A door opens
behind him, blaring
blinding sun into
the room.

The grass-tides
roll in the
blanketing breeze,
and even the
daisies smiled,
and the trees…

The boy returns
to his seat and
waits for another hour.

3 0 3

Children's poem


Never Frighten A Frog


Never frighten a frog,

Frighten a frog, frighten a frog

If you’re trying to get up close to one

Move carefully and slowly.

Frogs are very, very wary

And find children awfully scary.


To get to see a frog close up

As it’s lying in the sun,

Creep up on it stealthily

And never ever run.


You won’t see ears on a frog,

But they can hear all right.

Every snapping twig to them

Sounds like dynamite.


There used to be a lot of frogs,

But now there are just a few.

Waiting on their lily pads

To jump away from you!


Chris Brockman