Too soon to count the summer dawns
remaining, like cattle bunched before the gate,
yet these leftovers of a Gulf monsoon
that invade my sky like dark ships
over the Sierras from where a scattered flotilla
waits for orders, may cloud the day—
steam instead of bake the inhabitants
of this canyon—leave a little crunch,
like vegetables, life for tomorrow.
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2014
Tagged Drought, Dry Creek, monsoonal flow, photographs, poetry, weather
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2014
Tagged Dry Creek, haiku, Homer Barn, photographs, poetry, weekly-photo-challenge
Startled to rise
from primordial ooze,
my presence wears no guilt.
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2014
Tagged Feral Hog, Greasy Creek, haiku, photographs, poetry, water, wildlife
What comfort to have
my presence be
less imperative than an itch.
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2014
Tagged haiku, Paregien Ranch, photographs, poetry, wildlife
Not many leaves, but
hanging on to the tops
of mountains no one sees.
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2014
Tagged Blue Oak, Drought, haiku, Paregien Ranch, photographs, poetry, water, weather
Short of death, we crawled home bleeding
after the war, a pretty nurse waiting
to love us, to kiss our ghastly scars
in painless dreams of perfect sunsets—
all worth the suffering our heroes wore
stoically, just under the skin. Even
in the cultivated fields, courageous acts
to save a crop, men and machinery bent
before a freeze, or swimming horses
in a flood to save some cows. We took
our chances in stride, ready to do
the right thing when we knew what it was.
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2014
Tagged Dry Creek, haiku, photographs, poetry, red sky, Venus, weekly-photo-challenge
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2014
Tagged cows, haiku, photographs, poetry, weekly-photo-challenge
The sun is not yet high
and the loose dirt burns
my feet through leather boots
as we work for water:
trenching, gluing pipe
from well to tank to trough
among the oak trees
half-mile above the blacktop
where silhouettes of cattle
claim the shade, chew cuds
and watch. They cannot feel—
cannot see the urgency,
ever-trusting, unafraid
of our intrusion in their world—
we’ve kept them well.
The sun is not yet high
and I recognize the edge
of fuzzy delirium that turns
the order of this world
upside down, that obfuscates
governments and fear,
economies and philosophies—
that boils and distills
each moment down
to reliable water—
up here above it all
where nothing else matters.
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2014
Tagged Drought, Paregien Ranch, photographs, poetry, water, weather
Other worlds underfoot
within our own
become delightful details
in a forest for greenhorns
to explore new territory,
to learn fresh songs,
dance steps and innovative
ways of reckoning
that becomes instinct
beneath the surface
of these grasses grazed.
I am the intruder opening
an alfalfa valve, turning
water loose to run
across a thirsty pasture,
as one of its wet souls
leaps and startles me—
then freezes and stays.
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2014
Tagged grasshopper, irrigated pasture, photographs, poetry, water
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