On Kansas Wind by M. Timothy Nolting
by Newell Rodgers
My name is Jewell Rodgers and I am the State Poet of Nebraska. This week I bring to you M. Timothy Nolting who is also, much like one of my other favorite poets Natalie G’Schwind –– a cowboy poet. I met him in Scottsbluff, Nebraska, during my State Poet travels.
M. Timothy Nolting has been presenting his original poetry across the west for more than 25 years. He has been a featured poet at cowboy gatherings from Elko, Nevada, to Ruidoso, New Mexico, and a bevy of states in between. His original verse depicts images of the west, captures the spirit, drama, and humor of a life lived among cattle, horses, humans, and the grandeur of God’s great creation. He has also published a two-volume set of short sketches of life in the heartland, from historical events to personal reflections, titled 101 Yesterdays. And he recently received the PEACEMAKER award from Western Fictioneers for the Best Western First Novel of 2023 titled By the Way They Treat Their Horses.
This is his poem. It begins with an epigraph.
Kansas Wind
They say it’ll make you crazy,
Torment and twist your mind.
Fill your soul with sorrow,
The grieving, hopeless kind.
*************
She stood alone on the Kansas plain,
A shovel in her hand.
A day’s work done. A shallow grave,
Where she would lay her man.
But still there lingered in her heart
The dream that brought them here.
And so she’d stay, prove up the land
For which he’d paid so dear.
A cold and bitter November breeze
Stung her tear-stained face.
Sent shivers through her sturdy frame
As she tamped the cross in place.
Against the cold she clutched her wrap
And drew it tightly round.
Her trembling lips spoke of their love
Then cursed the Kansas ground.
The winter sky, that gave no warmth
Cast a milky, lifeless glow.
Dark clouds consumed the fading light
And the wind began to blow.
Alone and empty, tired and cold
With faltering steps she trod,
Down off the hilltop to the shack
They’d built from Kansas sod.
She built a fire to comfort her
But flames brought no relief.
And through the night, both wind and widow
Wailed in anguished grief.
The long night passed and with the dawn
A sunless, dull gray sky,
Murky, misting, mournful days
And wind that would not die.
The fourth day came. Three nights had passed
And still she had not slept.
The wind remained, a grueling guest
At the vigil that she kept.
It called her name. It mocked her pain.
It filled her with anguish and dread.
It drained her of hope. It laughed at her fears
And twisted the thoughts in her head.
“He should be home soon. He’s been gone so long.
There’s horses and cattle to feed.
He’s gone to the fort. Was it two days or three?
For the winters supplies we need.”
“Oh! Here he comes now, just out from the barn.
His horse has been curried and brushed.”
Then he stands at the door, his eyes wide and wild,
His voice is hurried and hushed.
“T’is an ill wind blowin’, my Darlin’ Kate.”
She hears her husband say,
“T’is an ill wind blowin’ Katie my love
An’ t’will steal your soul away.”
She stands at the door, the wind in her face.
The sleet stings her red swollen eyes.
She searches the hills now covered with ice,
Then raises her fist to the skies.
“Oh you’ll not trick me devil!” she screams to the wind,
“You’ll not take my true love away!
I know he’d not leave me for you to forsake me!
I’ll be in his arms yet t’day!”
The roar of gunpowder, a sharp slap of lead,
A brief cry of anguish and pain,
Were but a soft whisper, devoured by a wind
That left no captive sane.
“Sweet Jesus, Mary and Joseph,” she prayed
As she crossed her crimson breast.
The wind now ceased. Its hold released
As she lay in his arms to rest.
©2005
This was a haunting one. A very haunting poem, but I loved it because it was so well done. It confused me a bit as the reader. The confusion was mirrored by her hallucinations near the end of the poem where she thinks she is seeing her husband but in fact, she is hallucinating. Obviously, I love when poetry does that – I love when I become the character. I feel the confusion along with the character in the poem. I love that.
This poem is very intense. The wind isn’t just weather here—it becomes a metaphor, a character in its own right. It foreshadows what’s to come, and its stillness only arrives once the struggle is finally over. I found it powerful how difficult it is to tell where the madness begins. At one point, I even caught myself questioning—had he survived somehow? That blurring is what pulls you into her unraveling.
The imagery makes it vivid: a sod shack, a shallow grave, a November sky with no warmth. You can almost feel the sleet on your face, the exhaustion of staying awake too many nights. What I love is how the poem shows both her strength and her collapse. She’s determined to prove up the land, even as the wind whispers, mocks, and convinces her she still hears his voice. That moment is tender and devastating at once.
The refrain—“an ill wind blowin’”—lands like prophecy, and the ending holds both peace and surrender: prayer on her lips, arms around her lost love, the wind finally gone still.
Albeit very sad, it’s well done in how it mirrors her grief, her determination, and her breaking point. What lingers is how the poem captures that fragile line between holding on and letting go, and how love and loss echo against the vastness of the plains. It ends with her gone, but in his arms. Isn’t that what she wanted all along.
Read more of Timothy’s work at mtimothynolting.com .
POETS ON THE PLAINS HOST
Jewel Rodgers is the 2025–2029 Nebraska State Poet, a 2025 Academy of American Poets Fellowship recipient, and a 2025 AIRIES Fellow. A three-time Omaha Entertainment and Arts Award nominee for Best Performance Poet and a three-time TEDx speaker, she is a nationally touring interdisciplinary performer and spatial practitioner. Jewel merges art, storytelling, and placemaking to inspire and connect audiences across the U.S. and beyond. https://www.jewelrodgers.com/ (Bloom)
FEATURED POET
M. TIMOTHY NOLTING was born and raised in Northeastern Kansas as a fourth-generation member of a farm/ranch family. Moving from Kansas to Colorado and finally to the high plains of Nebraska, Tim and his wife, Deb, reside on a small acreage adjacent to the Village of Bushnell, Nebraska. He has been presenting his original poetry across the west for more than 25 years as a featured poet at cowboy gatherings from Elko, Nevada, to Ruidoso, New Mexico, and a bevy of states in between. His original verse depicts of the west, captures the spirit, drama, and humor of a life lived among cattle, horses, humans, and the grandeur of God’s creation. He has published a two-volume set of short sketches of life in the heartland, from historical events to personal reflections, titled 101 Yesterdays. And recently received the PEACEMAKER award from Western Fictioneers for the Best Western First Novel of 2023 for "By the Way They Treat Their Horses.” https://mtimothynolting.com/
