Three Poems by Lin Marshall Brummels

Photo by Jill Wellington

Pocket Song 

Good morning starshine

The earth says hello

You twinkle above us

We twinkle below

~​Song by Oliver

 

My garden shirt has oversized

pockets front and back

to haul tomatoes and peppers

from the veggie patch. 

 

I stitch the back ones 

to give the shirt stability

and conjure a pop song.

Its melody sticks in my head.

 

I carry the lyrics in my pockets.

It’s my song of praise 

for all things Mother Nature 

provides in my lucky life. 

 

There’s food in the fridge, 

a roof over my head, two 

grown kids off on a journey 

of their own, a dog in her bed, 

 

horses graze in the meadow,

hooves clip, clop as they walk. 

Gliddy, glop, gloopy, I feel

happy to meet the morning.

Rhyming on Horseback

 

The blind appaloosa, the quarter horse no one rides

and the high-stepping-leader-of-the-pack mare

nicker when they smell sweet ripe apples waiting

in the feed bunk, lower their heads and crunch

in unison. I’m captivated by their musical dipping 

and chewing, imagine writing poems on horseback, 

some that rhyme, and others that don’t, reading 

in public, like I can do now, but was too shy to do 

when horses and I were young.

 

In those early days, I wish I tried out the idea

of writing on horseback but children, jobs

and frankly, the whimsical idea itself kept

my feet on the ground. Now my hips and knee

tell me that hefting a saddle atop a tall horse

is best left to those with strong upper arms, 

cinch tightening to those with enough muscle 

to pull the leather taught so saddle doesn’t slip,

and it’s tough to balance a laptop up there anyway.

Cunning

 

Curious fox looks my way

when I open church door

across from old courthouse,

set out the counseling sign. 

 

He stands still, watching me.

I run to grab a phone to record

but fox is gone slap-dash.

 

Later the same autumn morn

raven perches on identical bit

of lawn, watches door open wide

to a prompt knock, rises in flight, 

 

circles, disappears out of sight,

mystically, like fox fled earlier

leaving me to ponder destiny.

© Lin Marshall Brummels

Lin Marshall Brummels earned degrees from UNL and Syracuse University. Poems are in Poet Lore, San Pedro River Review, Concho River Review, Oakwood, Plainsong, Nebraska Life. Chapbooks, “Cottonwood Strong” and “Hard Times,” won a Nebraska Book Award. Books, “A Quilted Landscape,” Scurfpea Publishing. Forthcoming, The Last Yellow Rose, Sandhills Press.