Author Archives: John

BLACK CAP

Posted on June 13, 2015 | 8 comments

 

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Selected to stay,
to be bred and have babies,
we must give them names.

 

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OLD FRIEND

Posted on June 12, 2015 | 2 comments

 

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So many ways to see the world,
all the details waiting near at hand
since we were children, yet

we take the well-worn road
without thinking. I was so sure
I knew the way around the brambles,

but you were there to open doors
when we were rebels, to suppose
other orders at play or work.

Now the bells toll, ravens wait upon
our window sills—we cannot pick
how or when we’ll go—

but where we know by the details
of our destinations. God give you
strength, old friend, to see the best.

                                                      for JCN

 

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Pogue Canyon

Posted on June 11, 2015 | 2 comments

 
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Upon reflection,
sky becomes a cooler blue
and the hills less steep.

 

 

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Reflections on Terminus Dam

Posted on June 9, 2015 | 3 comments

 

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I was about eleven years old when the US Army Corps of Engineers began construction on Terminus Dam, named, I presume, for the end of the Visalia Electric Railroad line where a resort of sorts was established at Terminus Beach for local music and all-night dancing during the summer. There was also a nine hole sand golf course in the area of this irrigation pond, north of the river, that was accessed by a footbridge across the Kaweah during the 30s. All was erased during the 1955 Flood. The family was embroiled in a Condemnation Action with the Federal government shortly thereafter. Construction was completed in 1962.

Terminus Dam

Currently at less than 25% capacity because of the drought, it was unnerving for me as a teenager working downstream when Lake Kaweah was full.

 

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VIVID

Posted on June 8, 2015 | 2 comments

 

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In the summertime
heat and delirium rule
at the water’s edge.

 

 

WPC — “Vivid”

 

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THREE GEESE

Posted on June 7, 2015 | 5 comments

 

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Off the road, three geese
feel safe, wait for barley hay—
one without a mate.

 

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THE CROSSING

Posted on June 6, 2015 | 3 comments

 

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Over boulders, we pick our way for months,
pressing cobbles into sand like pavement,
two trails under wheels with bales of hay

when the creek dries up. But when it rains
enough to fill the channel, we must feel
our way through loosened rocks like braille.

Seldom better or worse, no smooth progress
holds, just a spot where we can cross
the creek—a steady equilibrium stirred

for years—we begin again, our presence
beneath killdeer circling, forever crying
overhead, erased—each season fresh.

 

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JIMSON WEED

Posted on June 5, 2015 | 8 comments

 

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Flowers beautiful,
but seeds can kill, or leave you
talking with the gods.

 

 

 

Flower Friday

Datura inoxia

 

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BASIC HOUSING

Posted on June 3, 2015 | Leave a comment

 

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Pausing to look up
for direction and bearings,
we keep dreams in sight.

 

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NATIVE PLACE

Posted on June 2, 2015 | 4 comments

 

Between here and the road, the intermittent
sound of summer cars across blond pastures,
fat black cows grazing, lazing in shadows—

a gentle world where coyotes pass and pause
for a squirrel, a bobcat trains her babies,
and crows raid bird nests for their own.

Snake bit, your mother’s inside dog is gone
to meet her, yet I still leave the sticky door
ajar, listen while I dress for his awakening.

Between here and the road, we see what we want,
watch naked skeletons of oaks come alive, and
long-limbed sycamores dance in an orgiastic tangle.

We can feel these hillsides breathe, hear
the heartbeat underneath. Not since the natives
has this place told so many stories.

 

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