The Secrets of Spring by Scott Tucker
The village of Laurie is a small village (population 51) located
in the French region of Auvergne. Photo by Scott Tucker.

The Bells of Laurie

Streets disappear
Into morning mist
Where lavender
Blooms like
Purple lace in

Alpine fields.

Dirt paths,
Kissed by dew,
Follow a rainbow
Of butterflies
Dancing over
Shades of yellow


The scent of
Wild flowers
Fills the air with
Lilies wait to be
Picked by June


The first rays
Of sun slip past
The arms
Of a breeze
To where sparrows
Play on church


The steeple
Points to the heavens
As a new day begins
And the bells
Of Laurie chime
To bless every breath

The village takes.

Walk Softly

James Scott Tucker – Nov. 30, 1971-April 24, 2011

We miss you my son.  You are always in our hearts!



Moon light
Upon the images
Kept within

Our hidden

Silent ghosts
Pause like rain
That sits above
The clouds

Thunders call.

And when
The rain falls
Memories of you
Walk softly


Sandy Lulay



My Montana grandchildren off on an adventure!


Summers sparkled
With sunlight on the creek.
Bare feet following laughter.
Wet grass between our toes.

Moments too intense
Whispered through the trees,
Speckled trout and butterflies
Play hide and seek.

Bedtime found us
Waiting up for star light,
To see if flowers closed
Their petals when they sleep.

The cover of night
Soon found us fast asleep.
Innocence curled up
On the front porch swing.

Little Girl


(A wedding blessing)
May the lakes never shrink
Nor the rivers run dry,
May you always be playmates
In the rain that washes
The tears from your eyes


Little girl
When did you grow so?
When did you go so far away
To the woman you’ve become?

Little girl
Only yesterday you played
Chalk in hand, hair in braids,
Skipping squares in the driveway.

Little girl
Graduating in high heels,
On your way to meeting life.
Meeting him and married so soon.

Little girl
It is said summer wears
A straw hat of pretty moments
Rich in grace, full of gladness.

Little girl
When I walk down the street
Where you played it’s me wearing
My straw hat of put away memories.

Little girl
It’s me looking for you.
You in the gladness, you in the grace.
It’s me following summer

Seeing you everyday

Little girl.

After the Rain

Frog in rose

Frog peeking out of a rose after the rain. Photo taken by my late son Scott Tucker.

After The Rain

After the rain
Spring wheat
Marriage vows

With the fertile ground.

One by one
Eagles sail across
The valleys
Face. I wave.

From this
Granite ledge
Finds me

Gathering dream

A dirt road

Into the pines
Where strife ends
At the last

Telephone pole.



Remembering my love and mothers love for horses.
She loved riding Burgundy through the Catskills mountains with
me on her lap when I was a toddler.


This photo was taken in Stevensville, MT at the end of October 2011


The brown eyes
Of Autumn
Reflect to me
The woodland trails
I once rode
With Burgundy.

Early mornings
With icy air,
A reminder
Jack Frost
Had been here.

Red squirrels
And rabbits would
Stop to tease
Along the paths
Of red
On gold leaves.


As summer
Turns to fall
And trees
Wait for sleep,
I miss Burgundy
And the
Crayoned hills.

Men Verses Women


Christmas 2012 in Las Vegas.  Alan enjoying the tree and I loved the gifts – of course!  The hotels were lovely with every one decorated for Christmas.





Men Verses Women

I have learned
Put life in boxes
Thinking they will not
Survive the mixing up of

They like taking
Things apart,
So the find it difficult
To leave the boxes

Alien Green

On the beach
The night is hot.
She stands secretly
By the fire,
Burning every trace
From where she came,
Surrendering to earth
Beyond belief.

Her  blood
Spills down
Upon the flames
To stain the sand
Where he once stood
Lit by another
More ancient fire.

She kneels down
To reclaim
Her lost peace
Before the alter
In smoke and ashes

Returning her new blood
To alien green!


Smith Creek, Montana

Smith Creek, Montana

Somewhere walking on Smith Creek trail, Montana summer 2012


A stream flows pink with blood,
A forest screams,
A village burns,
A tear seals a coffin.

A bride is dressed in white,
A baby is conceived,
Violets bloom in a front yard
Defying war.

A soldier yearns
For the gentle lotion
Of love
Only a wife can give.

A ray of goodness
Struggles against suppression,
Reaching, as truth limps away
On crushed toes.

Someone is sowing the seeds of hate,
The pain of it bruises the soul,
The rage of it prepares for
Perpetual resurrection.

Humanity staggers down a lonely street
Pushed by deaths chant,
A hungry child weeps,
Hate smiles upon the tears.

While a mother prays for food,
She hears rage preaching.
Somewhere the violets have disappeared
And so has a soul.

Stone Roses

stone walls and roses

A poem for my great-grandmother Hazel Applebee from England. She was the family romantic who grew up in England and loved to tell stories about castles.

Stone Roses

We stand
West of a whisper
Close to falling in love.
Twin souls
Bending over balconies
Stone roses blooming
In moon smoke.

We meet
The bitter and the sweet
At midnight
Lighting candles in the chapel
For the breath of fire
Born free
In the hanging space
Of saints.

The Merlot
On our lips,
As red as the berry
Before death,
Betrays us
As the heart
Betrays us
To love
Who ever
We must.

Ties charms
To rain drops
Looking for a chalice
The cottage teapot
Cracked brown with the age
Of our tears.
The magic invisible.

We are
Part of the harvest
That stains the fields
We plough.
We never
To the black sheep
Passing through
Our separate lives.

Years from now
We will walk
Through honeyed dust
Collecting seeds
Of a memory,
Of a path grown short
And shadows
Gone blind.

Crossing over
The silent fields
We look for
Grape vines
Spring weeds
Growing up fences
And black sheep
Passing by
Stone roses.