Pages




Haiku ~

paper kites on high
      reaching for the sunlit sky
            oh if I could fly.

                          *Dawn E.  Rutter ©1978




Old Age

Old minds slip away.
Yet there’s life in the clay.
The mind age will spurn
So the child can return.

Dawn E. Rutter © 2008
in a letter to Mary






           
Sun is up
Wind is down
Birds are hungry
Traffic is heavy


Sea breeze in
Dancing in the trees
Alan pounding
On his plumbing
Nancy & Helen home from walking
Butcher bird calling


*Dawn E. Rutter ©2011






          
                           Now little one, just go to sleep
                          You have a date with dreams to keep.
                          I wonder what you see in dreams
                         That glow along the bright moonbeams.

                                               *Dawn E. Rutter © 2016
                      





                           Loons
                        
                       Loons, so beautiful a bird,
                       Across the lake its call is heard
                       With flute like reedy vibrations,
                       On land such awkward gyrations.
                        
                       Existing in any weather,
                       Precise each black and white feather,
                       Surviving tiresome migrations
                       To replete new generations.
                        
                       Monogamous – mating for life
                       Sharing nesting tasks with wife.
                       I hear the long awaited trill
                       That all the summer days will fill

                       Minnesota’s loon has returned –
                       Its red eyes like sunsets burned
                       Into the very heart of man
                       Who helps nest building where he can.

                            *Dawn E. Rutter ©1985 




 Loon's calling as the morning mist rises ...  
Loon Country, Gunflint Trail, Minnesota





*Invocation*

God is everywhere.
He reflects in the silver of a tear,
The rainbow of a smile,
Flowers everywhere.
God speaks in the voices of all creatures.
God gives hope in the birth of every child.
God gives us faith to love one another.
Who can deny God when:
Opening our eyes each morning to greet a new day?
When we see puppies tumbling in play?
When people like you and me
Can meet by some unseen route across the country and world?
And even the atheist
Calls on God or Christ in his final moments.



                   ~ Dawn E. Rutter   ©2010 




“I’m 91 ½”

I walked today
A block each way,
I stopped to pray,
Thanked God today.
Watched children play
Along my way,
I’m glad to say
I walked today.

Dawn E. Rutter 
January 2013©





“Dawnettes”
   by Dawn E. Rutter  ©2013

Planes
Flying
Through the skies
Blue or cloudy
Silver birds awing –
Planes


Beer
Foaming
Chilling fingers
Cooling throats
Summer refreshment
Beer




Nests Barren
In winter
Waiting for spring
Renewal expected
Nests














                                      The Cook
      
                          Above the town of Cazadero
                          Stands a cabin bare and stark,
                          There are gaps between the floorboards
                          Where mice come up after dark.

                          No conveniences afforded
                          Lights were lanterns, kerosene,
                          An old wood stove for cooking
                          But the cook was city green.


                          Lumbermen would fetch fresh water
                          To the cabin for the cook
                          And the meals she cooked and served them
                          Can't be found in any book.

                          There was venison, in season,
                          All the fellows called it chow.
                          It was never very easy
                          But she preserved somehow.

                          Now that cook has gone “down under”
                          Where the food is strange again,
                          With a bloody ‘lectric stove,
                          That can be a royal pain.

                          Oh the trials of that old wood stove
                          Were a challenge long ago,
                          To a woman young and daring,
                          Who has now grown old and slow.

                             By Dawn E. Rutter [the cook]  ©2013






Fronds of Memory

Fronds of time brush my memory awake -
Nostalgia that’s impossible to shake -
Fragments of the past, peering out,
Whispering, never daring to shout,
Hidden in some crevice of my mind -
That a vagrant moment’s sure to find.
     **Dawn E. Rutter
                 Pages of Life©2005






           



          Morning

The bright fingers of morning
Shred the curtain of night,
Pulling the sun out of bed,
Waking our world to delight.

Song birds round the world are heard
When sunrise fades the moon
In every hemisphere
The birds sing their own tune.

**Dawn E. Rutter
‘Aurora Australis’ ©1992




            Old House

The house on the corner is empty and old
The windows are broken and let in the cold.
Once people lived there, bright sassy and gold,
Warm was the house with a family to hold.
It creaks in the moonlight and breezes that blow
Dreaming of a past with lights all aglow.
Now rain through the roof and ceiling can flow
Remnants of a garden still trying to grow.
It's a shame for a house to lose its pride,
For a house, once a home, to a groom and a bride,
Then children's sweet laughter was ringing inside,
Now vacant it stands with a soul that has died.

                        **Dawn E. Rutter
                     "WordFlow" ©1991



                       

FEATHERS ON THE WIND ©1981

-- a family anthology





Webs of reveré
                       Hold back cold realities
                                   Spiders spin our nights

                                                                 Feathers on the Wind ©1981







                                 Peace My Child

                    The church as quiet, cool and dim,
                    I entered seeking help from Him.
                    I never thought of what I’d give,
                    Just how He’d help me now to live.

                    No gift had I, no thought to offer,
                    Barren as I thought my coffer,
                    Then as I knelt below the altar
                    Begging words began to falter

                    Suddenly I hear my voice
                    Offer myself, a lowly choice.
                    God whispered in a gentle voice,
                   ‘Peace, my child, we both rejoice.’

                               * Dawn E. Rutter
                                                "Feathers on the Wind" ©1981



                                                                      
          





           My Book

A stranger asked to buy my book,
I sold it while my fingers shook,
I thought that only friends would look ---
Until a stranger bought my book.

Feathers on the Wind ©1981









Scented Pages

Like the petals fallen from the rose
Drop the words of poetry and prose
Leaving scented pages fro mthe past
So new eyes can see at last.

Feathers on the Wind ©1981





Unable to speak
      your language we share the hearth
            love speaks silently


Feathers on the Wind ©1981







                                        Oak leaves lose color
                                               The forest remembers spring
                                                      still waiting in snow

                                                                    Feathers on the Wind ©1981
          





      A Son

My child, heart of my heart,
Loved from the very start,
Cherished all your childhood days
Teaching you for grown-up ways.

Grown to manhood overnight,
Somehow it doesn't seem just right,
That bearded man so tall to see,
Just yesterday was on my knee.

Feathers on the Wind ©1981






God's Winter Scene

Boughs heavy laden with snow,
A white trackless wilderness,
Blanked mist shrouded mountain.
Icicles sap in the cold sun.
Silence broken by ice breaking
On the river, babbling water.
No voice is heard, no creature stirs,
Only wind winnowing snow.

Feathers on the Wind ©1981





                                              Papa

                                      Golden grain emblem
                                      Dangling from his pocket,
                                      My Papa's photo
                                      In my mental locket.

                                                             Feathers on the Wind ©1981









            Dreams
         by Roy W. Charles (Papa)

Thundering o'er the shining trail
Speeds the train of boyhood dreams
Mile on mile of bright steel rail
Fuming smoke and hissing steam.

How I long to board that cab
And pull the throttle wide,
Just give her all the steam she had
And ride and ride and ride.

Thru sunny fields and shady woods,
Or thundering o'er a trestle
Shrilly whistling thru suburbs
Where dingy stations nestle.

A-flying o'er the foot-hills crest,
Then dashing thru weird tunnels,
Oh how those boyhood days were blessed
With imaginative rumbles.

Oh how I used to throb and sway
And mimic mental creations,
As I walked the golden highway
In the land of imaginations.

Feathers on the Wind ©1981








   (Untitled)
by Roy W. Charles

When worry and troubles burden your mind
And poverty causes neglect
The metals you're made of show up fine,
Take care of your self-respect.

For he who is worried with burdens of care
Finds fault and is often unkind.
But a man who adds nothing for others to bare,
Is a man among men in my mind.

Feathers on the Wind ©1981








           The Lady Slipper
                 by Roy W. Charles

In dune-land woods along trail two,
In damp beds of leaf mold
A flower of rarest beauty grew
Amid the aspens fold.

Inflated lip of yellow
Twisted sepals of deep brown,
Dark oval sheathing leaves
On stems straight and round.

No flower more attractive grew
Or quicker caught the eye.
The image of a little shoe
With ribbons for a tie.

No floral family gets the fame
Nor other orchids wild
As the dainty lady-slipper
For its individual style.

Feathers on the Wind ©1981









                                                                The Brook
                                                                                                                                             by Roy W. Charles

                                                  Down thru the whispering rushes
                                                       On thru the aspens gray,
                                                   I sparkle across the sand bars,
                                                        I darken o'er beds of clay.

                                                  Joyous I list' to the rushes
                                                       I understand all they say.
                                                  But ever I travel onward,
                                                      Others may need me today.

                                                  Oft I would like to tarry
                                                       In the shade of the sycamore
                                                  And play with the shadow fairy
                                                       That thinks I'm a dancing floor.

                                                  Down in the valley the lily
                                                       Calls me and calls not in vain,
                                                  Onward I rush with my freshness
                                                       Freshness of far off rain.

                                                  On thru the valley I travel
                                                       Dancing thru sun and shade,
                                                  A joy to all that surrounds me
                                                       By giving of what I am made.

                                                                                            Feathers on the Wind ©1981




         HAIKU

by Anne C. Rosebrock
    [mother to Dawn E. Rutter]

A cathedral not
    only a thing of joy but
        a shout of triumph


                                                The hummingbird flits
                                                       across the honeysuckle
                                                               sipping on the wing



The weeping willow
    arched over the flowing stream
        to see its image


                                                                             The water casdades
                                                                                     from the rugged mountain side
                                                                                               to a quiet pool



                           The church bell ringing 
                                    each not floating through the air
                                                    like a sliver globe

Feathers on the Wind ©1981






Cardinal

Cardinal with plumes so red
A rakish topknot on your head,
Scarlet flashing through the trees,
A feather floated on the breeze.
I went and picked the feather up
And put it in my pencil cup.
Now when I go to write a bit
My room with scarlet feather's lit.

Feathers on the Wind ©1981

KANGAROO POCKETS ©1979


*Dedicated to all the little feather
merchants that have passed through
my doors through the years. *

Dawn E. Rutter ©1979


Kangaroo pockets
Are not meant for lockets
Or bicycle sprockets

Mom Kangaroo said,
No crackers in bed,
For Kangaroos shed.

No overnight guest,
No east and no west,
Just a soft furry nest.

Kangaroo Pockets ©1979






           Lalapaloozer

Have you heard of the Lalapaloozer
That lives near the old gum tree?
He loudly proclaims he's a snoozer
And only awakens for tea.

Kangaroo Pockets ©1979







Ten Toes

Ten toes have I
And all of you,
Two eyes have we,
Black, brown or blue.

Two ears to hear
And hair to comb
Ten little toes
To help us roam.


Kangaroo Pockets ©1979





Children
plump, thin
crawling, standing, walking
they reach for life
children


Kangaroo Pockets ©1979






Owl Sounds

I heard the owls talking
In the old pine trees,
I wonder if they talk about
The sun and honey bees,
Or if they only chat about
The furry little mice?
I think night owls talking
Sound so very nice.

Kangaroo Pockets ©1979






Koala Bear

We saw the koala bear, leathery nosed,

Eating a gum leave, serenely posed
Upon the branch of a great gum tree
As he kept watching you and me.

Kangaroo Pockets ©1979



 Moon

The moon riding through the sky 
Like a cyclops way up high,
Shining through the night
Makes my garden a delight.

Kangaroo Pockets ©1979



                                                                   Snails
                                                                   slithery, slimey
                                                                   sliding, gliding, riding
                                                                   they leave silver trails 
                                                                   snails
                                                                        Kangaroo Pockets ©1979





             Bug

Little bug there on the floor,
Did you come in by the door?
Did you crawl up through a crack?
Get on out and don't come back.

Kangaroo Pockets ©1979






                                Shadows Grow

                          Your house is as familiar
                          As any place you know,
                          But when you turn the lights out
                          The shadows
                                               grow
                                                        and
                                                              grow.
                                               
                                Kangaroo Pockets ©1979