Strahl Lake

Story Inn

T.C. Steele Cabin

Moutain Made Music

The Painting Plane

I ride the painting plane,
for stand-still hours,
focused in a drug-like trance.
I strive for a likeness,
soaring and plummeting
sometimes with single strokes.

The plane carries me away
from things I cannot change,
into a world I alone create,
from my visions
into a brush-clutched hand.

The painting is finished
when I want to stroke another.
Lacking satisfaction,
I force myself to stop,
to save my sanity
from an endless spiral of trial and error.

C.J. Steele

Come a Time Each Evening

Comes a time each evening as the locust sing their song
When the lights must all be dimmed, as the evening has worn long
The candle flame, so bright, must be exhausted in a "puff"
The rooms have all been straightened and I feel I've done enough
But it's just that time of evening that I place an extra strain
Is that a car that's nearing, on the gravel, on my lane?
Did those headlights slow, or stop or merely pass right by?
It is just that time of evening that my imagination begins its flight
And yet, I'm very weary, and feel I need to rest
But the verse I have to write is nagging in my breast
So pen in hand I pour it out, as to be rid of some disease
To the accompaniment of crickets and the memory of distant seas

Tricia Bock

two friends fishing

mirrored trees and sky
only rings from fish jumping
and boat trails
break the spell

pure silence
interrupted by
passing geese,
cooler openings,
and the whine of casting lines

two friends not facing
poles so as not to tangle
anticipating nibbles
each hoping for the bigger catch

one fish
too small for keeping
grows to braggable sizes
for the bodies on the bank's
"catch anything?" replies

the friends are free
the moment is blessed
as the moon climbs with a lake likeness
and a shooting star agrees

C.J. Steele

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