Seed to grain
on a whim of the weather
watched constantly
from space
and here on planet Earth
swirling with tempests
beyond the hands
of politicians—
try as they might.
Rooted in dirt
we search the habits
of our wild totems
for miracles
and pray to God as well
for luck.
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2022
Tagged dirt, earth, God, luck, photography, poetry, TOTEMS, water, weather
March 10, 2011
Once the invincible gambler,
I was weaned on cowboy heroics
to wear the scrapes and scars
of chance and circumstance
stiffly—my bones now groan
ground under the pressure
of time, worn smooth as cobbles
in a creekbed. Stride shortened,
my feet slide searching for stability,
having danced this earth as one
in my collected dreams aboard
four great horses I’ve outlived—
I am learning to change my mind,
to find the flavor in a moment
I’ll not savor another time.
Posted in Photographs, POEMS 2023, poetry, Ranch Journal
Tagged age, chance, change of mind, circumstance, horseback, photography, poetry, time
RIBBON OF ROAD
Not the least hurt by this ribbon of road carved on their sea-foot.
– Robinson Jeffers (“The Coast-Road”)
Fridays bring the caravans of Christians,
SUVs freeway-spaced and paced at sixty
up this snaky road to the pines and cedars
to pray
and low-snow weekends, the growl of mud grips
on decomposing asphalt, armies of colored jeeps
and shiny four-wheel drives drone up-canyon
to play
do not see these hills leaking with pleasure,
every wrinkle running with crystal streams
of rain, three weeks of storms rushing to
a rising, chocolate creek with foam, nor
the naked sycamores, leaves undressed,
white limbs dancing, rosy fingers reaching
for steamy clouds afloat upon the green
oak-studded slopes, black dots of cattle
scattered with all the legends gone before me.
Posted in Photographs, POEMS 2023
Tagged Dry Creek, Dry Creek Road, encroachment, photography, play and pray, poetry, rain, runoff, sycamores, weather
The fine dust upon old tools I have forgotten
as I clean the shop: my brace and bits, some
long-enough to chew through creosoted
railroad ties while scraping granite gravel. Mighty
hugs to my shoulder in long, youthful spurts
that warmed the birdshot bearings out-of-round
where there was no electricity to hang a gate
miles from the asphalt. It was my third.
I wore them out. I knew no other way.
I recognize the dead scent of time as mine
on the shelves, in wooden boxes no one makes
anymore, protecting stiff-leather headstalls
and rusty bits we’ll never use again. I must make
room for the cordless handyman, especially
since this old battery has begun to run down.
Posted in POEMS 2023, Ranch Journal
Tagged age, dust, poetry, rechargeable batteries, time, tools
Beautiful in the world fabric, excesses that balance each other
like the paired wings of a flying bird.
– Robinson Jeffers (“Still the Mind Smiles”)
It was all the clods at once become precious
– William Stafford (“Earthdweller”)
Is it fear that judges so, good and evil,
or guilt for easy breath, or lackey to politic’s
endless stream of currency?
The creek runs full, carrying deadfall bobbing,
fat limbs lumbering like submarines or whales
to rest upon the banks when flood recedes.
The miracle of rain erasing tracks for fresh
beginnings: for another turn of circumstance—
that wild divergence of extremes that want
control, like taming wolves to lap dogs
that always fail, even in our minds though
dressed in our latest, eco-friendly outerwear.
The devil’s in the details that embrace truth
and trigger memory, that glorious flight
that connects us to time on this earth.
Posted in Photographs, POEMS 2023
Tagged creek, deadfall, exremes, fear, human nature, nature, photography, poetry, rain, Robinson Jeffers, truth, William Stafford
Two coyotes lope across the road in the rain
in their retreat from the swollen creek, roaring
like prolonged thunder distantly—unafraid
for they are fat on rodents curled in flooded
burrows, tailings fresh. The herons and egrets
will appear with the sun, stand guard like statues
in garden nurseries look alive. Too wet to fly,
the sheltered hawks in the limbs of leafless trees
will spread their wings until their feathers dry.
And we too wait. Some days it’s too wet—
too hot, too cold, or too dry to work—but once
in a while it makes more sense just to behold.
Posted in Photographs, POEMS 2023
Tagged coyotes, Drought, Dry Creek, Egrets, hawks, HERONS, photography, poetry, rain, RODENTS, water, weather
Atmospheric creek,
miles of canyons into one,
now headed somewhere.
Posted in Photographs, POEMS 2023, Ranch Journal
Tagged Dry Creek, flooding, haiku, photography, poetry, rain, weather
Rising from the saddle
beneath Sulphur,
a full wolf moon views
first break in the rain
for over a week
as if to assess
a rare miracle:
green slopes leaking
rivulets spilling
into draws into creeks
foamed like Irish coffee.
We are drunk with it
wanting more, another
warm sweet storm
to validate
a lifetime—this
wild existence:
grass and rain,
cows to graze
our blurred exposure.
Posted in Photographs, POEMS 2023, Ranch Journal
Tagged Buena Vista, Drought, Dry Creek, Fishermen's Wharf, Irish Coffee, photography, poetry, rain, weather
No word of the whereabouts
of La Niña 3, one more dry year
waiting in the wings to sell cows
and feed more hay—instead,
8 days rain out of 9 and more
to come, bare canyon green.
We are helpless, flood or drought,
her fickle Nature always serving
what she wants, anywhere, anytime.
Posted in Photographs, POEMS 2023, Ranch Journal
Tagged cattle, Drought, green, Mother Nature, photography, poetry, rain, rainbow, weather
After a decade, we gave-up prayer,
swallowed our appeals to pagan gods
and goddesses that might be listening—
we forgot the feel of tall green feed
wet upon our knees, resigned ourselves
to do without—to adapt to drought.
Wettest December in a century,
but for the floods of ’55 and ’66,
I don’t regret what I wished for.
Posted in Photographs, POEMS 2023, Ranch Journal
Tagged careful what you wish for, December rains, Drought, Dry Creek, floods, photography, poetry, rain, weather
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