Alexander Beebe

She bares the pain and joy of this world with praise and thanksgiving.
A man chiseled by life, attempts to conquer what he has already been given.
Yet she brings him to his knees, not as to extinguish his heart,
but rather to kindle a flame so that God may know he is His own.
...

A family’s journey in a wagon, heading West to see the sights.
Three young children on this passage, two of which are prone to fight.
Never hurting one another, just a way to blow some steam.
Cross the dessert, over mountains, through the forest and up the streams.
...

Abundant earth our God has given some in sight and some well hidden.
Beneath the streets that run through cities, towns and farms and pastures plenty.
Rolling hills and mountains high, ocean floors and desserts wide. Beneath it all left unseen, lay the veins that fuel the dreams.
...

The inner fabric of our mind
consumed with derelict and waste.
What energy is spent-what cost to fuel such putrid hate?
The walls we build to save our soul;
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Of all the people in this world
how did I meet you?
Was it fate that blessed us with
arranging our first rendezvous?
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Ol’ Marfa was a blue tic hound,
no owner did she claim.
No one knows where she came from
or who gave her the name.
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The backyard trees a host to many, feathered friends who feed on plenty.
A young child’s eyes and ears in tune with what’s expected, how she yearns.
The ritual she knows too well, it’s her job to calm the swell.
A task that any one could do, but she and Rooster rule this roost.
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My baby and I are going out tonight she wants to blow a little steam.
Cowboy shirt is starched so nicely, wrangler jeans with laser seams.
I love this woman; we plan to marry if I get my head on strait.
I better get my act together; the ice is thin, it just might break
...

Through out this great state, in every small town
In store fronts and cafes can always be found.
A bastion of knowledge so eager to share
The fix for our country so deep in despair.
...

The sunlight squeezed through the gap in the blinds
and tickled my eyes till my dreams went to sleep.
Three minutes remain till the alarm will go off,
so I stare at her sleeping and whisper her name.
...

His eyes they pierce the coming storm.
Ferocious volley, he orbits the mound.
Releasing wrath upon the slayer.
The object sought-he prays not found.
...

I’m headed south from Cleveland
aiming toward the Georgia line.
Two weeks I’ll spend with
Aunt Lucille, my last surviving Southern tie.
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Rack’m – A. Beebe

She entered through the back door
with a black case in her hand. Four inch
...

The first time I saw her was in a little café
Just on the edge of a Bama interstate.
As fate would have it the diner was full
except for the bar stool, the one next to hers.
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The tables set the candles lit
the children sound asleep.
A long awaited rendezvous
romantic dinner set for two.
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Three long days of dust behind him,
at least that many more to go.
His job it is to ride the fences,
to bend the wire and mend the posts.
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Translucent images of you in my mind,
like clear spring waters that
refresh and revive. My worlds
not complete till I see you again.
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There’s this old windmill I pass every day on County Road 8.
Its blades are all bent and rusted in place.
Yet it seems so majestic with its overcoat of vines.
I’m sure if it could talk, it would talk of simpler times.
...

Icicles forming on the edge of the roof,
the damp wooden floor feels so cold on my feet.
The walls of this house, like the thoughts in my mind,
hold all the memories of what was our life.
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The wind song screams her furry
when the ripened sky gives leave.
She blows; she burps; she breaks the branches
sending flocks to distant seas.
...