Wonder
© 1999 Brandon Weatherby
"Yeah!" the child squealed as he ran outside into the tall grass. The bright afternoon sun fell down on him and made his slightly red hair burn brilliantly. A young woman followed the little boy, laughing at his gleeful cries as he raced down the little hill into the field. The girl's hair swayed behind her and glittered like spun gold and fire. The little boy stopped, turned around, and beckoned her to hurry.
"Come on," he urged, pointing toward the fence at the end of the field. The girl bounded down the hill after him and he smiled with delight.
"Wait," she said, "I have to set out the blanket!"
"Oh, sure," the little boy responded. He stopped his exhausting run and walked over to the girl. She unfurled a large quilt with brightly colored patterns running through it. No two squares were the same. She loved the quilt. In fact, she had made it herself after months of collecting pieces from family and friends.
Once the blanket was laid flat against the soft grass, the girl sat down and glanced up at the sky.
"Isn't it beautiful?" she asked the little boy, ruffling his auburn hair.
"Yes, it's very beautiful," he repeated.
"I bet you just said that because I did," the girl laughed.
"No, I like it," said her companion. "It's blue!"
"And look at the clouds," the girl said, pointing to the fluffy white masses lazily crawling across the sky.
"It's a ship," the little boy said excitedly.
"Really?" the girl asked.
"No," the little boy said, giggling.
Off beyond the fence, the horses had wandered closer to the blanket. Curiously at first, and then with casual dismissal, they glanced at the prone figures.
"The horses!" the little boy cried, jumping up and scrambling off the blanket.
He ran toward the fence and looked up at the tall animals. They regarded him with little interest. They knew him and really weren't very concerned. He was always excitable, and they knew it.
"I wanna touch it!" the little boy squealed.
"Well, be careful," the girl cautioned. She got up and stood by the little boy. She took his small hand and slowly petted the horse's nose. The boy stared open-mouthed, in awe of the huge creature before him. The horse sputtered, unwilling to tolerate their presence any longer, and walked off to find quieter pasture. The little boy was soon distracted and didn't give the horse a second thought.
"Let's go down to the water," he pleaded.
The girl thought for a moment. "Well, ok, but take off your shoes. Your mom won't want you to get them wet."
Immediately, the boy sat down and proceeded to remove his shoes and socks. "Ok, finished," he said happily. He put his hands up, indicating that he wanted her to pick him up. She scooped him up in her arms and they raced over to the stream. She whizzed him through the air, and he laughed with delight. When they finally made their way to the water's edge. He shimmied out of her arms and slyly inched toward the bubbling brook. When his feet touched the cold water, he recoiled and gasped. But it didn't deter him. He tried it again, and this time his feet didn't move. His eyes grew wide as he felt the water rush through his toes and over his feet. He hopped happily up and down, splashing the young woman with tiny droplets of water. They laughed heartily and ran down the streambed, oblivious to the sun's hot eye poking through the trees at them.
When the boy was thoroughly soaked, the girl picked him up, lifted him over the bank, and climbed out herself. They walked back to the blanket. The girl sat down and commented on how very wet he looked.
"I don't care, " he said mischievously. "Let's play!"
He got down on his hands and knees and began crawling around the blanket. He roared and clawed, making a monstrous racket.
"You, too," he said blinking at her with his big blue eyes.
She jumped at him, growling. He screamed in fright and delight as she chased him through the field.
"Are we dinosaurs?" she shouted.
"No, lions!" he said. He looked at her as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.
"Right, that would have been my next guess," she said.
He dove at her, roaring. She ran to the trees, hiding behind a particularly large trunk. The little buy slowly came into the grove, looking around him. Suddenly, the girl lunged at him, grabbed him up, and tickled his little tummy. He fought half-heartedly and laughed loudly. She lifted him up to the tree's leaves and he snatched one down.
"Wow, what's that?" he asked as he showed her a tiny bug running across the leaf's surface.
"It's an ant," she said. "They crawl all over the ground and live in little nests in the dirt.
"Oh," the boy said. He put the leaf and ant on the ground and watched as they blew away in the cool wind.
"Well, little one, I think it is probably time for lunch. We'd better go inside." The girl said.
"No, no, no, that's ok," the little boy said shaking his hands.
"Come on," the girl said smiling. "I'll race you!"
She picked up the blanket and set off running. The little boy laughed and followed her until they reached the front door. He opened it, and with a backward glance, waved goodbye to the clouds, the horses, the water, and the ant.
"Grey Skies"
© 1997 Brandon Weatherby
The greying rain clouds hang overhead,
Covering up the afternoon sun.
Like the painting of a master,
Billowing masses for miles run.
Here and there the colors deepen,
Dirty whites becoming grey.
Beneath them a cool breeze is blowing,
Bringing a much cooler day.
Peace and serenity rule this hour,
Here between sweet summer rains.
The clouds spread their whisper of contentment,
Through the valleys and over the plains.
Bright green trees 'gainst somber backdrop,
Time stands still, this day grows long.
One feels the melancholy beauty
Like some forgotten Celtic song.
If, this day, one finds reflection,
Thinks of all that has gone by,
The clouds have conveyed their ancient message
And all of nature can breathe a sigh.
"Coming Home"
© 2004 Brandon Weatherby
Based on "Coming Home" © 2000 Brandon Weatherby
Two men seek each a place to dwell
The First Man searches still whence he came
The Second Man where his innocence fell
And neither one yet finds a home to name
The First Man stands along the street
To gaze upon an old, white house
Hoping there past thoughts to meet
Reflecting when the world allows
Inside the house he hears strange voices
Those of people he once did know
Their insular language mocks his choices
Smothering the promise he yet might show
The Second Man looks to-ward the future
From the place so much was learned
Wishing there his life to nurture
One for which he has long yearned
But now he finds that he is changed
In his potential he sees not peace
His latent fears have just exchanged
His loneliness does not yet cease
Will either of these men discover
A resting-place he can call home?
Or does each heart abide with Another
Continuing among three realms to roam?
Two men seek each a place to dwell
The First Man searches still whence he came
The Second Man where his innocence fell
And neither one yet finds a home to name
Publication of My Poetry
- "Destiny?" America at the Millennium: The Best Poems and Poets of the 20th Century. Ed. John Grinols. Owings Mills: Poetry.com, 2000.
- "Destiny?" Poetry.com. 2000, 2004.
- "The Empty House (Short Version)." Seasons of Happiness. Owings Mills: Poetry.com, 2000.
- "The Empty House (Short Version)." Poetry.com. 2000, 2004.
- "The Empty House (Short Version)." Poetry's Elite: The Best Poets of 2000. Owings Mills: Poetry.com, 2001.
- "Grey Skies." An Eternal Flame. Ed. Alyssa R. Stokes. Owings Mills: Watermark Press, 1998.
- "Grey Skies." The Sounds of Poetry. Audio Collection. 1998.
- "Grey Skies." New Growth Arts Review 20 (2000): 34.
- "The Other Same Face." Shelter from the Storm. Ed. Terence Troon. Bath, OH: The Poetry Guild, 1998.
- "The Other Same Face." New Growth Arts Review 20 (2000): 20.
- "Revelations." Echoes of Yesteryear. Owings Mills: Poetry.com, 2000.
- "Reverie for the Violin." Guided by Voices. Owings Mills: Watermark Press, 1998.