by Glen Larum | Jul 28, 2016 | Leaving Montana, Poetry Pieces
for homesteaders Linnie, Allie & Minyard Cornell Who now can read the writing of the plow upon that distant hill? I have seen winter work its will upon that page, and works it still. This is the prairie of the lie, Jim Hill’s ‘Rain every spring, grain where it...
by Glen Larum | Apr 4, 2016 | Leaving Montana, Poetry Pieces |
for Tim Pilgrim, who is a real poet — The river road winds like a boy’s path home, a boy rich in imagination who finds in every stone some brave’s thumbprint, in every bush the trapped curves of a Longhorn steer. I have been captive to that desire, known the...
by Glen Larum | Apr 4, 2016 | Leaving Montana, Poetry Pieces |
He came too close to evening; at the lick’s edge, a flash of flag shifted dusky landscape with a queer white. Patient vigil paid off. An aiming –a life spent preparing for split-seconds– could not miss this accident. Red blood spurted hard, a heart shot’s certain...
by Glen Larum | Apr 4, 2016 | Leaving Montana, Poetry Pieces |
She is festive October, summer in husk and rouge. All sign points again to birthday weather, to ragged celebration and the odd gift. Ribbons dull and curl on the limb where the hawk huddles. Puffs of gray fur dance crazily where the fox prowls for slow mice. Late...
by Glen Larum | Mar 1, 2016 | Leaving Montana, Poetry Pieces |
I grew up with a western tongue; the rhymes it makes are its own. It sings the timid rabbit’s gait, that endless mime of hide and wait; dips the wing of the shrieking owl, voices the badger’s angry growl, whispers sage and buffalo grass to screen from hunters as they...
by Glen Larum | Feb 24, 2016 | Leaving Montana |
This sprawling dance, all wings, lures the swift strike. And a fishhook moon cast against the blue baits the great night. Mayflies fishing, their careless dance tempts a harmony; the final, blinding flash of light riffles, a feeding of attractions the dance invites....
