Who bankrolls
the nasty TV ads
that verge on slander,
the propositions
to make law
no attorney comprehends,
then leave it up
to the common man
to cast his vote
for the profit in IT,
be IT self-righteous egos
or just plain cash?
Imagine the power-rush
spending someone else’s money
and then to get paid
with all the perks
for IT
for life.
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2022
Tagged common man, democracy, elections, mid-terms, parties, photography, poetry, politicians, politics, voting
The weather here is queen,
haggard goddess dodging phone calls,
prayers—she gathers storms
like cattle to market
leaving empty pastures bare to cook
for sometimes years—
sometimes centuries displacing
civilizations for archeological
supposition and conjecture.
We cannot know her mind—
she is old and forgetful
and often wanders in a haze.
But when we smell her
approaching on the wind
our dry skin tightens as
we become like reckless children
turned loose to prepare
the fires for her arrival,
be it wrath or cordial,
for she is queen
of eternity.
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2022, Ranch Journal
Tagged Drought, Dry Creek, nature, personification, photography, poetry, rain, weather
The cows know the way
following the idling sounds
of the diesel hay truck
to the feed grounds just beyond
the glacial slab of granite
honeycombed with grinding holes
of another era
when 300 Natives
made a living in this canyon.
After the flood
they moved the road
away from the creek in ’69—
exposing human bones.
The cast iron well head
for the red brick slaughterhouse
stands like a gravestone
among dead oak limbs—for
a time between then and now.
A cow turns back to attend to her calf
swallowing dust, another murmurs
trust that there will be hay.
* * * *
0.28″
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2022, Ranch Journal
Tagged Calves, cows, Drought, Dry Creek, dust, feed truck, glacial slab, grinding holes, Natives, photography, poetry, rain, weather
The black hole in the barn
has grown since August
as we peel-off long green
(high-dollar hay) vacuumed-up
by cows nursing hungry calves.
Al the prognosticators
tease us with promises
of thunderstorms tonight
if only to settle the dust.
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2022, Ranch Journal
Tagged alfalfa hay, Calves, cows, Drought, photography, poetry, weather, weathermen
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