The birds are pairing up
as crimson-chested finches
dance and sing upon the railing,
beak-to-beak foreplay,
wing feathers quivering
before making a home
as house-hunting quail
split from their covey
to explore the garden.
A flock of strutting blackbirds
gets acquainted
while combing the ground,
and the killdeer practice
hollowing nests
in the gravel drive
analyzing traffic
before settling down
to hatch four eggs.
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2025, poetry, Ranch Journal
Tagged Blackbirds, House Finches, Killdeer, quail, spring
We ride all day 'till the sun's going down
I'm gonna be glad to get out of this town.
- Charley Willis (“Goodbye Old Paint”)
Into Fresno for the first time in years
to carve cancer off my face
with the cars and trucks, all makes,
all sides, both ways, packed parking,
debt-ridden drivers cooped-up
in caves and castles busy being
where there is no place
without more of the same
for miles
and I’m scared—
not of the knife, nor of the scar—
but way too tight for my old heart.
It is a race now, but slowing near the finish line—
time to identify new wildflowers, measure rain
for posterity, data to apply to reason, to a pattern
for those of us who believe not everything is random
chaos, turbulence and tornadoes inside the Capitol
of the planet where the big guns make money
playing chicken, or blind man’s bluff
for the rest of the resources we’ve about used-up
especially space without trace or track
of humankind—
the dogwood creek’s short cast
for snowmelt rainbows where
even a child would not go hungry.
I can go back anytime I want
to escape or wait
until the job’s done.
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2025, poetry
Tagged "Goodbye Old Paint", Charley Willis, poetry, politics, progress, Tex Ritter
Blading the season’s last green grass
for firebreaks, I need to concentrate
far away from the world’s turmoil,
peel the weeds out of the soil
or sever their roots, over and over
the same ground until smooth—
an impatient perfectionist,
carving a twelve foot road
the cattle will travel and dimple
like a golf ball, but will stop fire
if not too windy to ignite
wild oats and tall dry feed
easier than I can throttle back
the flow of pompous rhetoric
that has ignited global animosity.
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2025, poetry, Ranch Journal
Tagged firebreaks, photography, poetry, politics
Epaulets on his shoulders,
I remember the cocky strut
of the redwing blackbird
beneath the grain bucket
mornings when we saddled horses,
back when we had a pond,
wild ducks and nested cattails,
but not enough water
to watch it evaporate—
and I miss them, miss the
mallards come the gloaming
on whistling feathers
with bellyflop landings
to safely spend the night.
It’s all about water.
Posted in Poems 2025, poetry, Ranch Journal
Tagged cattails, poetry, pond, redwing blackbird, water
On top of the world
the fat calves are curious—
nothing else to do.
Posted in Haiku 2025, Photographs, Poems 2025, poetry
Tagged Calves, haiku, photography, poetry
What has happened to the world,
the people, the planet,
now that we can measure
parts per billion,
the distance in light years
to the nearest black hole.
Crowded in corrals,
we are bent beneath the weight
of useless information
shouldering our way
to the EXIT gate
to shed the burdens
of mind and flesh—
lifetimes spent
trying to escape?
What has happened to the world,
this magic planet,
its Mother Goose,
her golden eggs
the rogues are after
mining the moon?
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2025, poetry
Tagged golden eggs, moon, Mother Goose, photography, poetry
When the rains come right
and knee-deep green feed hides
beneath Fiddleneck in the flats,
we forget the bare, baked slopes
cut by dusty cow trails plunging
to the murmur of the diesel truck
spilling alfalfa flakes the length
of undressed pastures—lost bawling
calves and slow thin cows.
So blessed to have disremembered
the lean dry times, we believe
the miracle is normal, that Hera
and her daughters will set-up camp
and stay a fruitful future for man
and beast, creeks in the canyons—
a tangible fantasy for the thriving
when the rains come right
to change our way of thinking.
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2025, poetry, Ranch Journal
Tagged Drought, Dry Creek, miracles, photography, poetry, rain, spring, weather
Early spring garnish
before a mid-March rain,
wild colors claiming
lush shades of green
that cattle finish grazing
by eight o’clock.
Everybody feels
what’s coming,
despite the sunshine—
despite the rattling
of sabers
from would-be kings.
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2025, poetry, Ranch Journal
Tagged rain, storms, wildflowers, would-be kings
Dad claimed it was the politicians
far away from farming
that saved day’s end for golf,
adding another hour in the field
to get the harvest in
as summer days grew longer.
Just like a bank,
sunlight loaned for how to spend it,
work or play?
Now no matter which
we still change hands
on his vintage clock.
Snow comes off the mountain
on the backs of trucks,
white caps on compacts
like trophies
to melt on roads
into town—
cold hands
shoveled dirt driveways
steer downhill.
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2025, poetry, Ranch Journal
Tagged Dry Creek Road, snow, Sulphur Peak, weather
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