TUESDAY

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We could be cattle, days
with no names like ticks on a clock—
each dark silence, welcome escape
from two years of want,

or stampeded substitute gods
overrun with adulation,
bringing feed and water to
damned-near everything.

Only now, with well-timed rain
and drizzles freeing cotyledons
from the clay, watching the young
bulls get acquainted with cows,

do we forget the drought
to see our future grass
and heifer calves—sure
that tomorrow is Tuesday.

 

GOLDEN EAGLE BREAKFAST

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Left for the wind to clear
hard clay, soft remains
of a Red Tail Hawk.

 

 

DISCLAIMER

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I’m not a real photographer—
just trying to capture
real things differently

with a point & shoot
while working in weather
wearing good cameras down

to a bad investments—
small fortunes rendered
to useless cases.

No place for tripods
moving cattle, feeding hay—
no words to hold the wild

still. No time, dearly beloved,
when deep on the inside
of an unraveling ball of twine.

 

RED BARN 2010

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Roof in the trees raised
by January wind and rain—
we tarped the hay.

 

 

WPC(3) — “Angular”

 

MILK THISTLE & BEE

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Our nature to endure
all the evolving angles
of survival.

 

 

WPC(2) — “Angular”

HAWKEYE

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Good hooks and an eye
to hunt fish underwater
throughout the dry years.

 

 

HOME OF THE GROUND SQUIRREL

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Our straight lines, but new
obstacles and opportunities
for others.

 

 

WPC(1) — “Angular”

IN THE SYCAMORES

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All of the young bucks
know their place and wait
for business to pick up—

for the boss to be gone
with work of his own
calling him away, far

enough that he won’t know
what they’re up to.
They spar a little, rattle

thin horns, bide their time
in the thick of November—
like it’s always been.

 

NEWS OF THANKSGIVING

 

Once in awhile a fellow blogger will poke a poem out of me. Thanks Evelyne, I feel a little better now:

 

Herd camped at the gate,
waiting for it to open
to the corral,
to the lead-ups and chutes
for processing
before spitting them out
to rush into another
crowded pen

on the TV news as if
Wall Street’s making hay
with everybody shopping
for the holidays—

as if we’ve traded
mashed potatoes, turkey, stuffing
and gravy with cranberries
and family for a bargain
with a credit card—

as if all the cattle
really want in.

 

NEAR THE RIVER (RIPARIAN)

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Within the wild grapes and willows,
a world become tame
without humans.