Bachman's Flower Show

Albatross

Ocean- foaming, spewing seaI see you on the horizonwhat I can see...

the albatrossflying high,widespread wings

piercing the horizonwith his searching eyes,albatross bringing graceto the winter skieswhen you fly-

beyond the reachof the tempestuous waves

white plumage shining,glistening,in the sun'smisty rays.maria flores

sliver of moon

Sliver lovely painted sunlitmoon. cannot believe

how slivery thin and beautiful you are.

hangingon na'ut

but empty, floating

space, gently

traced

let the heart speak

from the heartabounds words so sweetinstead of the mouthlet the heart speak,so we can upbuildall those whom we meet.

maria flores

The Indian's horse

wind flying,mane flowing,rippling,field of golden wheatin the wind-

strong tendons,sinewy woven iron,steely legs,muscles strong,

well-formed mounds ofstrength,like moonlightgathered in one's хэнд,beneathblack soft skin-

black,newly painted canvasshining oilyblack reflections of lighthair soft and kind-

head rears back,cry of delightto the skyechoing in the valley-

sun low in the west,patiently dippingbetween the creviceformed

by two low-lying mountain peaks,gray-bluegolden sunlight,fields of grass

reflecting light,extend endlessly,effortlessly-

running fast,furious,four legsstriking the groundover and over,continuous, controlled motion-

strength,beauty,wheels of a steam train rolling-

white teethbriefly appear,like piano keyssinging

every day,song of victory,freedom's wings-

wild horse--majestic,dark,like the night skyin the Canyon-

hoofs strike the groundsudden impactdull soundsoft thunderover and over

pistonsleaving behind footprintsof strengthin the soft earth-

beautiful,darks almond eyes,black as a nightwithout a moon-

gives praise,testimonyto the Creator, to God,who мейд everything beautifulin its own time-

handiwork,living painting,master designer,master worker

working together,endless timeArchitect of the Universe

"Such a majestic animal-"wisdom of yearssoftly spoken.

Praising the great Spirit

American Indian-eagle's feather on his head,waving in the breezepassing wind,

as if the eagle might wantto fly someday again,fingers reaching out to greeteternities mysteries-

Sitting uponspeckled horse-hands outstretchedto the starry heaven'soverhead,Praising the Great Spirit,

face aglowlike the sunburnt backof a running white horse,like the sun shiningon the river's rippling surface-

moonlight's fullness,stars shining between the clouds,clouds driftingquietly along--little floating ships-

the stars themselves--tiny campfiresburning lowlyin the distance-

American Indian-fire burning low,heart on fire--burning campfire coals-

heart a teepee,with an entrance open and wide,centuries pass before his eyes,as his life beginsto slowly unfold-

his ancestor's heroes and storiesare in a moment being told,like a centuries oldblanket--again being unrolled-American Indian-searching the heavens--somewherebeyond the fingersof his outstretched hands-

American Indian-heart pure and simple--like the painting of a face-never knew the meaning of life,until that starry horseback nightwas traced.

dusty tired feetDusty tired feetwalking slowly purposefully-the top of the mountain,sea stretched out below

sitting quietly,knees bent,Rock-- somehow placedin that spot, three-thousand years ago,if only it could speak and telleverything it has come to know-

Gentle smile-head looking upwards towards the sky,passing clouds--eyes peering towards the heavensbeyond the heavens-

crowds slowly take their placeat his feet--his feet- dusty and tired-

Mountainside,yellow springtime flowers,dapple painted wild grassy,rocky pastures of olive green--

children quiet--in expectation,faces painted-serene-

Tired feet,leather sandals,dirty, dusty, rocky roads-

so many miles-winding through the cities,walking, walking-greeting strangers,burning eyes focused,shining like a flame-

blessing children--everywhere children"who are you, who are you?""why are you here--where will you go?"they always want to know

Silence--sparrows pecking seedsa fertile olive treeblack birds, speckled,moving-dots along the sky,passes a flying flockbefore our eyes-

compassionate voice,peaceful silence--speaking softly,simplest spoken poetry-

wisdom-- deep as a canyon,deeper than an ocean canyon-a thousand books of wisdom

spoken -a hundred simple words,two-thousand years ago,never before heard-

poignant and strong-an anchor in the windy sea,bracing up--like a rock,still standingtwo-thousand years into the future-

most wonderful wordsever heard on earth.

John Scott is an educator in Newark, NJ, and works in Newark public schools. He teaches middle school science. Mr. Scott writes poetry between classes, collects poetry from students and encourages poetry as a healthy creative outlet for children and teens.

Jane Statlander is a literature professor at Miami Wade County College and Miami University, Thomas Edison State College, Trenton, NJ. Mrs. Statlander resides in Miami Florida, spends time in Tel Aviv, and is originally from Newark, NJ.