Sweetwater Seasons

Katherine Sunday twisted and turned the handle as the gray bucket dipped lower and lower into the well. She was clothed and sorted by the fortunes of the Sunday legacy, lace edges and tresses of flame. She cast a narrow shadow against the twilight horizon and if one were to trespass on the taboo of orange gild and beautiful silhouette, the twilight might have sighed in exasperation and sweetwater taboo.

Katherine completed the turn of the lever with a silent consent to the asylum of fresh sated thirst and desert abandon. The rolling plains unfurled a distance beyond the spring and tiny grass mud hewn cottage. A cry for the service of rain and great geysers of moisture, a cry for the cool seed of tender rose bloom and lush jungle sash, in contrasting desires the plains ached for change and sweetwater currents.

Katherine rolled up the taut length of rope in slow easy turns and whispering anticipation. The taste of what’s real and worn by the evanescent temper of angels and racing will, in slow degrees of chance, a fated pull at the rope and the sustenance of life. The will to Eden and sand to verdant vistas, to tall pine and wild dandelion blossom all in the gray metal conveyer of nourishment, of clear, cool love for the land and mankind, water in wishes and wonder. She touched the metal banded bucket and smiled in tender alliance with the gift of life, the sweetwater miracle. Katherine waited in pause and prayer, “Thank-God,” she prayed as she dipped the tip of her finger into the bucket, “Thank-God.” The rare wine, the sweet virginal fact. The bead of well water fell from the tip of her finger, and dust, desert dust, sighed and breathed in explosions of wont, a need in dry riverbeds made fast and rushing. The desert assured the reception, the shape of release unbound. She delivered the birth of a garden as the water spread to the distant horizons and the secret soils beneath. A vista of suspiring tangled choice, Sweetwater wilds and the tide in ebb with the heartbeat of desert passion, the mossy measure of time, the blood of eager saints in raging desires and rushing birth. Just a touch, a drop of water borne by the tears of a maiden in silent sweetwater seasons.
 
 
 
 
The Mistress of Dreams

The spirit of sanctity and sure sated dreams, a confined absolute for the sweet mistress of bliss and regal majesty. She gave the birth of smoke and misty ecstasy, and in wanting she found creation and centers of divinity. A taste of character and the savor of spells that will the shape of fate and futures in communion, she believed. She believed in the push of pretty, delicate care and evanescent ways in champagne and wine.

To the thankless solstice between day and evening-tide fires of intimate possession, she sighed and her azure eyes rolled in passionate release; another dream for the land of nod and the spoils of far and away. Another dream in graces of sugar and sap, maple tree conspicuous and pains in distant horizons. Another dream in what was and what will be, in what has hold over the domain of man and beast. She evoked the harmony of tears and fears in worn vagabond dispositions, in velvet cradles of safety. Babies and ancients in dreamy consciousness, in dreams of wont and vaunt, in last gasps and beyond. The mistress of drama and dreams, the satisfaction in fine-spun gild and wild burdens of bond, inspired by the mystery of avatars and order, by the secret of rumors and upheaval, she was the mistress of dreams and soulful forevers in light. A shadow for a silhouette, a dream for a waking passion, in the tatters of what tears and love betroth. A descried allusion and the heavens in revolution's sway, the mistress of dreams, the mistress of dreams.
 
 
 
 
By Energy and Daring

The reassurance of cultivated sums, burdens of ravishing embrace and tender occasions of passing existence, the rage in wheat bloom, in focus of bidden sun, saffron warm, encroaching by secret upheaval and clandestined harvest abundance, presented a tableau of dreamy accomplice to the withered specter of the ancient farmer.

An unbridled creation of designed love he thought. A free flow fame he thought as he touched the golden sprigs of wheat, crumbling them between his fingertips. The dust of God’s success in ribbons and rivers of garden delight he thought. By God in row and want. “Declared in vast seas of sated sunshine,” he declared as he waved his hand across the wide open vista. He sighed and a gentle caressing wind stretched away revealing the garner*.

He whispered, "By the will of heaven and damp soils, by dusty airs and warm smiles, a blessing indeed, a blessing indeed.” The farmer smiled at his creation and the birth of an alliance between heaven and earth, quiet eyes and acquiescent dreams of forever.

He made his way through untrod seas of saffron and amber rivers of passion, the journey untold, in fast streams of ascension and tidewater seed. The wheat and saffron breath of what’s considered by the hand of fate and the pilgrimage to greater realms of love, love for the promise of tomorrow’s desire and the need of love in true spirit. He wandered and passed the time with a sated possession, the beginning of a revolution in immortal passage. The drama of the saffron ocean and the golden abeyance of souls in transit, passing from one moment to another, in route to the promise of pearls and rambling eternities in Eden. He harvested the emotion and gave thanks to the saffron array, the asylum of old farmers and those who would find the will to confess a delight in the wheat, the store, the chaff and all.

He said aloud, "By all and all and all and all, by the energy and daring of a rare will and by slow exhalations given unto the sun and the saffron secrets, by the reaping and the plenty in what’s given to man, what’s laid bare to the souls of passionate angels and sleeping babes in wait, the garden in full, the treasure true on the homeward bound path to freedom and forever.”


(*garner is an ancient word for "corn")



© Ron Koppelberger


Bio: Ron is an aspiring poet and a short story writer. He has written 90 books of poetry over the past several years and 16 novels. He has published 227 poems and 54 short stories in a variety of periodicals such as The Storyteller, Ceremony, Write On!!! (Poetry Magazette), Freshly Baked Fiction and Necrology Shorts. He recently won the People’s Choice Award for Poetry in The Storyteller for a poem titled "Secret Sash." His work has been accepted in England, Australia and Thailand. He loves to write and offer an experience to the reader. He is a member of The Poetry Society of America as well as The Isles Poetry Association.