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I gazed upon a crisp night sky
like the shepherds of old. They saw creatures there and gods and heroes bold. “Hallelujah!” was hope they held for angels to answer their call but today we only see satellites orbiting over all. I hear there’s twinkling hope in planets light-years away. Intelligent life may lurk beyond, but we messengers will be too old to have anything profound to say. Our support forever is Mother Earth. We are her children, not her master. We must share with all her creatures and there will be harmony forever. © 2021 Larry Kilham  Hummingbird, hummingbird,
floating on invisible wings, darting here and there, while the whole garden sings. How do your tiny little eyes find the perfect blossom? You always do and I think you’re awesome! You hover in flight and look me in the eye. Our souls join momentarily and I follow you to the sky. (c) 2020 Larry Kilham Who’s that rider crossing the plain his horse kicking up a cloud of dust? He seeks to knock on fortune’s door - this rider will do what he must. There is a lonely cabin on the plain where he thinks his lady waits She’s called Louisa May and is known to tempt the fates. Knock, knock he goes, “Open up or I’ll shoot out the lock.” The rider breaks in and stomps around but finds only a turquoise rock. What happened to his lady fair? He searches for the slightest trace and listens for her beckoning voice but there’s no sign of her pretty face. The rider looks in the stable and finds a horse munching hay It’s saddled and ready to ride but there is no mistress May. The horse must have bolted to the barn as horses like to do. So the rider mounts the horse and, on a whim, lets the pawing, snorting steed run where it suits him. The horse stops in a rocky gulch where a lady lies shovel in hand. She lays silent and dying waiting for her man. “Oh, my precious Louisa May! Why are you here alone? We should have worked together finding turquoise stone by stone!” He brings her to a cooling stream with barely moments to spare. She struggles and recovers under the rider’s loving care. At last she says: “Turquoise and copper lie together much like you and me. When we mine these riches together we shall be.” “Look for bright green stone in the cliff by the snaggly pine. It will process to the very best copper and there we will build our mine.” From this small beginning they build a regal mansion and furnish it with furniture and art and china of all the latest fashion. One day there’s a knock on the door and they admit an elegant stranger with silk suit and gold watch chain, cane, and ten-gallon hat. “I’m here to save y’all from a real and present danger.” “The railroad’s coming through and they’re fixin’ to take your house. It’s for their ruthless boss known as Big Tony the Louse.” “Let me buy your house and mine right now for gold or cash. I’ll deal with the railroad folks and you’ll be gone in a flash.” This story lives on as legend about this lucky and loving pair living here and there and everywhere - seems they vanished into thin air. But I saw the rider and Louisa May just the other day snuggling under the snaggly pine. I swear I could hear them making plans for a great new mine. (c) 2020 Larry Kilham 
The big old house sits atop yonder hill guarding its history from curious eyes. They say its full of spirits all claiming important family ties. A stranger approached through the mist with curiosity nudging him to the door. He knocked and knocked to no avail while the wind whistled “Nevermore!” Finally he found a basement door unlocked but covered with vines. The stranger gave it a mighty push and collapsed among racks of wines. He brushed off cobwebs and dust and the bottles set him to think: “A rich family settled here once at least two centuries past. They nonstop partied and drank because the future seemed so vast.” Some force pulled him upstairs to the kitchen strangely still No food or wine waited on silver trays nor a butler to sense his will. But “Listen,” a voice seemed to say, “Go to the library down the hall and look for a squire by the fire and he should tell you all.” The stranger looked all around but no squire was to be found only august gentlemen and ladies watching from portraits all around. Neatly shelved were hundreds of books probably none read but also no TV. He admired furniture, china and bric-a-brac standing ready for the next society tea. Then a voice from somewhere said: “This old house sits on a historic hill guarding its history from curious eyes and I, the squire, am its guardian spirit but you took me by surprise.” “You must talk to my daughter who resides on the uppermost floor I will call and introduce you while you go to knock at her door.” The stranger thought this a little odd that he was not questioned and trusted so but he was bound to follow the path to whomever and wherever it might go. He went up several floors of creaky stairs until he arrived at the third floor. He passed by musty rooms with ancient beds until he came to a promising door. The stranger knocked ever so gently and the door squeaked and opened ajar. A sweet voice, barely a whisper, said “Please come in, whoever you are.” The stranger entered and took a seat but no one could he see. “I am here to find sweet Betsy and who might you be?” “I am Betsy, the last of this family line, and my husband was lost at sea; but you have a voice like his so might you perchance be he?” “I am indeed your husband David! After a terrible storm, wreck, and amnesia, I was destined to forever roam. I only knew by notes and letters how to find my way back home.” “David, my love, we should embrace but I am but a pitiful ghost. Every day from the Widow’s Walk above I scanned the sea for you, my dearest.” “After days and weeks and months, of grief and hunger I did die but please be welcome in our home and someday we’ll unite in the sky.” “Let me say these final words: Everything you love will be lost but all will return another way and our stars no longer will be crossed.” The big old house sits atop yonder hill guarding its history from curious eyes. But now we know it will live again with Betsy’s and David’s ties. (c) 2020 Larry Kilham Far, far away in the stellar night
we see mysterious clouds of galactic light. These distant fires warm our tired brains and help our dreams escape their earthly chains. Many have minds that crave to fly free but are caught in the grip of eternity they’re always rolling stones uphill killing their hopes for glorious free will. It’s time to let a million flowers bloom to give joy and dispel the chilling gloom! When there’s an end to exploitation and strife everyone can focus on a better life. (c) 2020 Larry Kilham From your pillow through your window
you travel to your land of dreams. Its special places only you know - their vistas bathed in sunny gleams. Flowers carpet the valley, birds chirp from the trees. From them you absorb energy while you float in the breeze. Now put structure in your vision to give your life new meaning, and you can do with what you’re given with a joyous and prideful feeling. (c) 2020 Larry Kilham See the robots on yonder hill –
they’re not dining on chlorophyll. Their panels soak up the sun so from batteries they can run. They await our all-seeing guidance to apply their focused intelligence. Then the robots harvest the crop picking and packaging until they drop. Some say the robots will rebel and conspire to attack us with computer-driven ire but I think they will await our orders as their leaders, mechanics, and coders. (c) 2020 Larry Kilham I wrote this for my friends Wendy and Bonsall Johnson, owners of the Parlor Car B&B in Chama, New Mexico, the southern terminus of the steam train line to Antonito, Colorado.
Chugging through echoing tunnels and over the awesome trestles the proud old steam engine bound for Chama chugs and whistles. Hardy folk stand in the gondola happy families cluster in the coaches but today the parlor car has but one fare - the tall stranger from Nacogdoches. The stranger strides past the waiting crowd at Chama’s old-time station. He sports a perfectly cut suit and a ten-gallon hat but avoids casual conversation. The stranger saunters into the Boxcar saloon and he asks for the best place to stay. Everyone all agrees, “Go to the Parlor Car B&B, located just a stone’s throw away.” There’s a rap rap on the door as Wendy peers through the glass “Bonsall, dear, we have a visitor and he’s certainly a man of class.” The stranger doffs his hat and smoothly says, “Evening, Ma’am, what luck I’ve found your place! Do you have a room for a traveling man?” “We do. Please enjoy our finest suite.” The stranger notes the elegant interior with furnishings by cultured hosts. “Looks mighty fine. Sure wish I could stay longer.” The train whistle wakes Wendy and Bonsall announcing a glorious new dawn. They’re planning a fabulous breakfast but the mysterious stranger is gone! A letter arrived for Wendy and Bonsall signed by the governor of Texas saying in part, "Your B&b is the best lil ol’ hotel west of the Pecos.” © 2019 Larry Kilham Complexity has smothered the thoughtful life
and dreams slip silently away. Truth appears briefly like a mouse scuttling in the night. Why bother to discern wrong from right? Now I know why the mouse runs free - in the open air, truth is there to see. Like the resplendent flower or the singing bird we may start anew and be heard. (c) 2019 Larry Kilham  The tawny cat stalks and searches,
but often on a cliff waits and watches. He’s a coiled spring on his haunches. I pass below in the bright new snow and there I see his paw marks in a row. He’s above, somehow I know, and we are silent in our respect. © 2018 Larry Kilham |
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