by Alicia Beckwith Magic Carpet Ride When I need a place to go—to hide, I climb aboard my fringed carpet to ride. Up, up, and away we go, sailing high and then low. Looking through the fringe to see movements to and fro, Watching sheep in the meadow and cows below. Squares of bright colors greet my eye as we noiselessly fly on by. Bubbbling brooks make me smile as I glide away, mile after mile. At days end, happy and sleepy-eyed, I shake my head with eyes open wide. I peer forward and then I lean, angling down very nice and clean. Swishing closer, I look and see my house there waiting for me. My carpet floats down to the roof gently drifting back and forth—then poof! It places me into bed just right, where I’ll dream and sleep all night. Winter’s Painting Pine trees hold their wintery dress Against winds that harshly blow. Their arms reach out and hold The nests that cling so bold. Birds huddle in branches ever so cold, Calling to each other, their tales are told. A painting so perfect it does present As snow makes its blustery descent. This presents itself with each new snow As into the warmth of March we go. Horses into Battle Horses hooves pounding the dirt; their eyes wild and alert. Ears perked to listen hard, Nostrils flaring taking in more air. Snorts fill the evening silence as into battle they quickly go. Saddles creaking under each mount; bridles and reins slapping their skin. Quick turns to avoid on-coming strikes As warriors spur their steeds on. Crash of shields and swords fill the night And painful cries as warriors fall. Only one side remains victorious As they ride home in the evening glow. (Written after reading Jeremiah Chapter 8: 6 – 17.) Alicia Beckwith is a local poet and author and has been writing for four decades. Her poems have been published in book collections and magazines.
RUNDELANIA 