Category Archives: Poems 2014

FRESH CALF

Posted on September 12, 2014 by | 4 comments

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That first day, licked clean
of placental packaging
that draws bears and coyotes—

her rough caress
brings hair and flesh alive
to shine with innocence

trying to hide in short feed:
that initial blank page
that can never be retrieved.

 

 

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NOT LONG AGO

Posted on September 11, 2014 by | 1 comment

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Lonely old man,
only friend an oak
along the road.

Not long ago a colt
lightly dancing
in the gate,

the branding pen when
I tried to buy him.
What whispers

does he hear
standing hours there—
what do they share?

 

 

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CREDENTIALS

Posted on September 10, 2014 by | 1 comment

A downcanyon mile,
the hay barn yawns at dusk,
an empty hole,
its hungry mouth
in the middle of the stack.

Breaking down the bales
by steps is an old man’s game,
an engineering feat to keep
lifts to a minimum
loading a feed truck—

one proposed prerequisite
before any academic degree:
to fill and empty a hay barn—
the other, spend a summer
running water down a furrow.

 

 

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Posted in Poems 2014, Ranch Journal

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FULL MOON

Posted on September 9, 2014 by | 1 comment

Scat at the feedsacks,
it’s become a moonlit game
slipping shadows from shop

to horse barn, yips close
drawing dogs away.
A partial blur beyond

the Blue Oaks disappearing
up rocky draws, as I check
first-calf heifers—he taunts

crosshairs day and night,
breaks into my dreams.
But I am learning

to rise with the spotlight
flashing before he leaves
for a couple hours sleep.

 

 

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FOREPLAY

Posted on September 8, 2014 by | 4 comments

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Looking out beneath black clouds at dawn
from a daze, it smells like rain too early
to do much good, yet I am cheery—

old friends returned, dark remnants
of a Mexican hurricane, precursors
perhaps to storms waiting in the wings

rehearsing lines, emphasizing pauses
and diction between thunder and lightening—
old flesh revived beneath a blanket.

 

 

WPC(2) — “Adventure”

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Posted in Photographs, Poems 2014, Ranch Journal

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THIS BUSINESS OF REVENGE

Posted on September 7, 2014 by | 8 comments

The daughters and sons of bitches
know where I live, yip at my window—
feel my anger build long distance:

that red flush from the loins
warming the whole of me, the air
I breathe in a hundred degree canyon:

too far gone, gray necrotic hock
of a newborn shot, red dot
between its eyes. And I must go there

to get the job done. But I hate this part
of me, this part of our nature
where wars begin that never end.

 

 

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First Wagyu X 2014

 

 

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MERRY-G0-ROUND

Posted on September 6, 2014 by | 1 comment

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Imagination waits
to carry fresh eyes
to the rest of your life.

 

WPC — “Adventure”

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PRIVATE MOMENT

Posted on September 5, 2014 by | 3 comments

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Deep in the Blue Oaks,
the caress of a mother’s tongue
begins new life.

 

 

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WITHOUT WATER

Posted on September 3, 2014 by | 3 comments

I had to tell her
about the gardeners
out of work, looking
for roses to prune,
green lawns to mow—

the fallow fields of dust
without crops to pick,
pack and haul to town
by truck, about how lean
the San Joaquin’s become.

Moonlighting, someone’s
hooking-up to hydrants
in Lemoore—a new market
for semi short-hauls
anywhere you want to go.

In the deep powder, shotgun
barrels at each trough
waiting for dove, all
signs of the hunt erased
by the wild at dawn.

I had to tell her
we’re OK, better off
than most—just to have
her think of more
than herself for a change.

 

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RECENT HISTORY

Posted on August 27, 2014 by | 3 comments

At the gate the dust is deep.
A feral hog at dawn returning
to his lair along the creek

atop a raccoon aiming
for the water trough, powder
soft between their toes

atop several head of cows
upon my own boot track
fading with yesterday’s breeze.

The time is now
to think about
the sign we leave.

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