Our canyon gleams
with sunlit shades
of rejuvenated green,
dirt tracks damp
after rain, white skiffs
of popcorn flowers
primed to usurp the flats
and gentle slopes
to divvy up with gilded
fiddleneck before the blue
lupine and golden poppies
display the sloppy guise
of springtime’s spilt paint
for photographs, daydreams
and April showers.
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2025, poetry, Ranch Journal
We know better than to claim
success when the grass is belly-high
and Dry Creek runs year-round.
We know the fickle temperament
of the wild gods and goddesses
who have few rules and no obligations
to monied interests, no crusades
to justify their integrity: certain
dominion over man’s campaigns
to domesticate their nature
for a dollar—that will, in time, undermine
humanity’s conceit for much less.
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2025
Tagged nature, photography, poetry, politics, power, weather
1.
Crows circle,
coyotes skulk
and a Red Tail watches
on a bare oak branch
for a ground squirrel
to wake and warm
atop a rock at dawn.
Everybody’s hungry
in February.
2.
Cold marble ceiling,
precursor to another
stream of storms predicted
to test the levees,
erase the landscapes
of man’s mistakes,
but likely missing
a golden opportunity
for humanity.
3.
The imbalanced weight
of man’s achievements
and herded hostilities
wobbles the planet’s
tipsy equilibrium
between war and peace,
the struggle for power
over Nature
to right herself.
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2025, poetry
Tagged development, Humanity, nature, photography, poetry, politics, power, weather
Mt. Tamalpais – L.E. Rea (1868-1927)
There are no windows on the south wall
to let the sun’s heat into a hot summer room,
but a 3’ x 5’ L. E. Rea painting framed
of Mt. Tam I thought was Montana
when I was a boy in my grandfather’s house
hanging above the mantle over the blazing,
hairy arms of grapevines pruned, hauled
and piled for the winter by the barn
with the remains of corrals for draft
horses and mules back in the day—that
my sister and I damned-near burned down
playing with matches. The fire trucks came
at dusk from town, sirens screaming closer
before I ever saw the flames.
Sunlight through mottled clouds
on the hillside near begs my eyes to stay.
Its bare, steep peak drawing me
from my desk to the south wall
like a window to a better place.
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2025, poetry
Tagged better place, L.E.REA, Mt. Tamalpais, painting
Night showers, cold damp dawn,
intense coyote octaves shrill—an eerie
screaming claims the canyon
as I search for forgotten details
for the morning’s branding,
worried for baby calves
before the crew arrives
for coffee and last minute
plans. What rarity has triggered
this assault on silence, what wild
imperative, what joy requires
such passionate agreement?
What have I missed
not learning the language
after fifty-five years?
I really dislike word press. I have wasted too much time today simply trying to pass along a comment on your blog entry today about coyotes. Before I moved to la la land north, at the ranch I used to enjoy this vocal minority calling to each other from valley floor (even if at times it sounded as if it was coming from just outside our bedroom window) to the upper hills and then beyond into the canyons and back again. Lonely. Eerie. Beautiful.
Keep on writing, my friend. You weave beautiful poetry beyond telling city folks about life (mostly work) on the ranch up Dry Creek Road.
s
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2025, Ranch Journal
Tagged coyotes, Dry Creek, photography, plaace, poetry, silence
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