Dreams of Jack Burney; The Dream; We Are Still Here; Prairie Wind; She Waits

Dreams of Jack Burney

Jack Burney

your Beautiful Dreams hide

in a stream of black smoke

trailing the Chicagoland Express

on the outbound train riding through

the great wheat plain

We Listen

to Beautiful Thinkers who quietly

Tinker on the creaky train

(drinking grain alchyhol

at 3 a.m.)

We are Gautama


Meditating like Neruda


Kiss those hands Your prose stained hands

We breastfeed and suckle


On Tecate

You on Quetzalcoatl


The old man screaks


Curtis, my brother

Pulls the curtain clouds Apart to sneek a Peek

He Hears:

“Which way to San Francisca?”

The pushcart peddler bares a toothless smile

from his whole hearted soul


 “Li Po needs a ride”


Up from Mexicoland Mother Earth transforms herself

Scrub Brush


Motherless mirages blanket the horizon

Cacti stand

-sentinels manned

The barrage of dust coats

My lungs

I Point up to say


lies in the ground you seek”

Jack Burney

On the night express Enroute to Midamerica, U.S.

-Train trail rider

Your journey ends as the crossroads


The Dream

The dream was not a nightmare-sad she felt
of the ghost that lived in her mind at night
not wanting to close her eyes, she had dealt
with the pain came more pain, she knew no light

The dream was ready for afraid she knew
the one whom she loved would return tonight
regret crept filling in the void anew
afraid, rejoining she was to moonlight

Guilt came around amid the day, tears flowed
but the day burned bright and melted away
all she once had feelings for did erode
the night’s embrace she welcomed on that day

The one she loved no longer haunted her
the night stashed the fog, no dreams would occur

We Are Still Here

The hate clung to the air-contagious-breathe
tears flowed, eyes red, fists pumped, our faces hot
they yell, they spew lies, over and they teethe
in time-living backwards in thought

The light that was ensured did not appear
shouts and fists pumped through the air-in time
they stared and making us part of their fear
uncertain thoughts plagued our hearts leaving grime

The sun shone on our backs revealing us
for who we are-are like you and you-cry
we refused to get on the back seat bus
they stopped to wonder whether to deny

The sun shone on our visage to reveal
the wounds that were inflicted would soon heal

Prairie Wind

On a Kansas prairie, the winds exhaled
gales of dust that settled
land like thick fog. Ethel rode
her Phantom Rider load beyond the wind’s
almighty grip, she peddled past the locust
plagued corn that destroyed a midwest farmer.

The prairie wind stung her face. Covered in dust,
a barn the color of night hovered on
the horizon. Ethel’s legs grew weary
with each and every turn of the spokes.
The wind blew. A weathered old farmer
in blanched, patched dungarees hollered,


His voice rang in her ear. The wind blew.
She stopped, raised a sweaty hand to greet
the old fella’. Devils of dust were born,
slowly, Ethel’s voice sliced the wind.
The dust coated word resonated
with the broken, tired granger,


He blotted his forehead with
a checkered bandana . A small stream
of tobacco juice dribbled down his chin.
As long as the prairie wind continued
to blow, they remained content to remain
apart. When it stopped, Ethel rode away.

She Waits

On land the winds do blow—for now they breathe
The dust does sting. It leaves a coat of sand
She loved the Earth gone now—dirt tastes like beets
The dark of night makes haste, she waits for you

The frost of night indents the soul—tonight
She waits for you, in black the pale decide
As fate requires—the tears embrace the sky
Suspend that time in space, a cry for help

A sound is heard amongst the stars—behold
The bat between the clouds reveals to you
A reply arrives too late, regret and fate
Declare the end—in time she waits for you

Billie McCorkle is an author of short stories, poetry and three self published zines. Currently, she is working on her first novel.