First Wave Immigrants

First wave immigrants,
my ancestors crossed
an endless ocean
to freedom–
not greeted by Lady Liberty,
but hostile heathens,
wild winter weather,
tough conditions–
a miracle to survive!

Building a society
shining upon a hill,
taming the wild woods,
and building schools
learning for all–

English, French, German, Dutch
starting a new country
based on equality,
freedom of religion
freedom of ideas
freedom for all who follow!

Until the second wave
and the third
and today–
No longer taking
the tired, the hungry and poor.
No longer taking
the Middle East doctors.
No longer taking
those fleeing persecution.

The shining society on the hill
has succumbed.
freedom for none
but those who think like them,
those who pray like them,
those who believe like them,
those who hate and fear like them;
those who have the price
of a billion pieces of silver.

With everything crazy going on at work and politics and farm and I got a puppy, I didn’t finish my poem on immigrants, so I’m sharing it for the Tuesday Platform.

Spring’s Promise

The early morning remains shrouded in darkness outside the window as I wait in the barn for the purest of magic–creation.  With much straining, the tiny baby is pushed into the cold world with labored contractions.  I anxiously wait to hear the first bleating before his mother licks him dry, talking softly as her tongue caresses the newborn.  Only minutes pass before he begins nursing.  I sigh in relief at his successful arrival.


miracle of birth
suckles from his mother’s teat
spring’s promise arrives

Sharing with d’Verse Poets for Haibun Monday and the Tuesday Platform at Real Toads.