Here’s the latest poem called Voyage West.
Pa calls our wagon Prairie Schooner,
says we roll at the wind’s pleasure
sailing a sun-hammered sea.
Sure enough, we scrape and creak,
pitch and sway all day over grassy
swells and wildflower waves. We set
our course west, always west.
As the sun draws night’s hood overhead
Pa says sleep but I lift my eyes
instead to the stars. Brilliant and billioned
as a glittering school of fish, they swim
the wind-tossed sky. These fish and I
sailor on through black leagues of night
heading west, always west.
I rise early and from my perch
next to Pa, captain our craft. How
it reels and rakes, how the sails
snap and flap, how the prairie wind
rams and rattles us. Pa calls
Hold tight! and I do, through its
leans and lists, steering us straight
and steady west, always west.
Pa’s proud. He knows that though
the wind breaks and bends us
I’ll command the helm from dawn
to dusk, until voyage ends and then
I’ll shout, Steady west, always west!
Ahoy! It’s Oregon!