Category Archives: Poems 2015

MOJAVE GREENS

Posted on November 6, 2015 by John | 1 comment

From the bunkhouse,
a thin ribbon of light glows
upon the Animas Mountains
hours before sunrise—
men snoring inside.

Long ways from home
I can’t sleep and wait
to make coffee before
the others stir themselves
awake before leaving

for the airport in Tucson
where I leave my keys
in the basket,
pockets empty in Phoenix,
pickup parked in Fresno.

Looking back
I should have known
I had nothing in common
with people who play
with Mojave Greens

sunning themselves,
absorbing warmth
like long flat tires
swapping ends to strike
right after they inflate.

1 Comment

Posted in Poems 2015, Ranch Journal

POT OF GOLD

Posted on November 5, 2015 by John | 9 comments

No longer children
chasing rainbows,
we want to believe

the drought is over—
look to the mountains
to shield our souls

from insistent cities
and a world at war.
Like native Yokuts

we want to believe
the ground can hold us
before we leave.

A trace of rain up-canyon yesterday afternoon as I looked up from my desk, inside after an 1.5” of rain, sorting poetry for another collection—working title: “The Best of the Dry Years”, 2013, 2014, 2015. A formidable task, like sorting 90 head from 900, it will take many more rainy days to complete.

The photo has that postcard-look of not quite real, a reminder of what a little rain can bring. Yet, I harbor some skepticism, not ready to say the drought is over, to set ourselves up for disappointment. But it sure feels good, nonetheless.

Weekly Photo Challenge(3): “Treat”

9 Comments

Posted in Photographs, Poems 2015, Ranch Journal

Tagged cities, rain, rainbow, sustainability, war, weather, weekly-photo-challenge, Yokuts

THE FUZZY FACTS

Posted on November 4, 2015 by John | 3 comments

Rumors take wings,
names and places change,
swirl up and down canyons

like sycamore leaves
before the dark clouds come
to settle things for awhile.

Mouths full of dust,
we didn’t talk much
in the dry years

looking out and up
when we weren’t scratching
for grass and water.

Since she’s returned with rain,
the hills grin green
and reach to embrace us,

calling cows and calves
to the ridge tops.
The phone rings from town:

“was it a lion or bear
killed five or seven horses
on Cottonwood or Dry Creek?

I hear the Fish and Game…”
trails off in monotone.
All I know: it wasn’t here.

3 Comments

Posted in Photographs, Poems 2015, Ranch Journal

Tagged rain, rumors

FOR RAIN

Posted on November 3, 2015 by John | 2 comments

Look to the sky:
bare oaks branched
upon uneven ridgelines
filigreed against
the promise beyond.

In the shadows
faces forgotten
re-inspect the man
I cannot change
from this distance.

Black and white,
dark and light
contrast youth
with age. The trail
is never straight

up the mountain—
granite rip-rap
and switchbacks
beside cold creeks
swept into rivers.

I believe the gods
ignore the pleas
of certain men,
prayers of the sure
and careless.

Look to the sky
for the wet gray rain
to wash this moment
before we start over
and over again.

1.45″

2 Comments

Posted in Photographs, Poems 2015, Ranch Journal

Tagged age, black, clean, dark, gray, light, rain, wash, white

ARMADA ROUGE

Posted on November 2, 2015 by John | 3 comments

First sign of a convoy at dawn
scout the sky eastward, small raft
of red on blue, I photograph

a promise of rain—then check
the Internet to bolster old saws
for shepherds and sailors

at the mercy of fickle gods
of weather and wonder
if our lover has returned—

how long will she stay?
Kindling split, we will be warm,
ignite the fire, cut wood and

carry ashes out until spring.
We are ready and prepared
to say goodbye to drought.

3 Comments

Posted in Photographs, Poems 2015, Ranch Journal

Tagged rain, red sky, signs

LIFELINE

Posted on October 30, 2015 by John | 2 comments

After the first inch rain
I work the road
with big Cat loader tires—
three towed behind

            four wheel drive
            low range crawl
            smoothing ruts
            like icing a cake

keeping gutters clean
and runoff into draws.

Outside, inside
down the middle
two round trips
four miles clay, rock
and some d.g.—
plenty time to think
and look for life:

            quail, hawk
            deer and bear,
            somewhere cattle

this fresh day.

Through the open window
scent of milk and cud
in the flats—

            little bunch:
            cows and calves
            upwind.

I’ve grown wild
since college and the Sixties:

            hauling hay loads up,
            goosenecks gathered
            with fat calves down
            the mountain—

our dirt road lifeline.

2 Comments

Posted in Photographs, Poems 2015, Ranch Journal

Tagged dirt road, rain, runoff

YEAR OF THE BEAR, Part 3

Posted on October 29, 2015 by John | 3 comments

I’ve added a third part to the YEAR OF THE BEAR for the nearby mountain town of Three Rivers currently inundated with bears. A good many of these bears are habituated Park bears, adept at breaking into cars for a bag of potato chips—mommy vans with sliders are the vehicle of choice. Breaking into a house is much easier. The bear population in California has more than doubled since 1982.

Believe it or not, some residents have been feeding the bears and are vocally indignant and dismayed that some bears have been destroyed. Without thinking, Three Rivers has all the ingredients for a tragedy.

Oso,
Ursus arctos
own the moonlit mountain town
on Halloween,
rummage door to door,
wait on the porch for more
of anything to eat.
Trick or treat.

3 Comments

Posted in Photographs, Poems 2015, Ranch Journal

Tagged bears

OUTSIDE MUSIC

Posted on October 24, 2015 by John | 3 comments

                                                                                       “listen to that music.
                                               The self we hold so dear will soon be gone.”
                                                       – Gary Snyder (“Anger, Cattle and Achilles”)

I’ve packed a rifle since I was ten
following cow trails in these hills
listening to music: the Red Tail’s cry,

its feathers rush overhead,
plummeting for fun—a calling
to another life without accouterments.

In time, we collect clear moments
of ourselves, fresh glimpses stamped
and saved that weigh nothing, cost

nothing, yet live behind our eyes.
No word for the first murmur
of a cow to its wobbly, wet calf

forever branded in our brains—
no word for the outside music
played with poetry and song.

Weekly Photo Challenge (1): “Careful” / “Full of Care”