Tag Archives: age

FOR RAIN

Posted on November 3, 2015 by | 2 comments

 

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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

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Present and Accounted For

Posted on October 31, 2015 by | 7 comments

 

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It’s been hard for me to accept that I’ve worn my body out, always able to do any job on the ranch, feeling secure with the strength of my arms, back and legs. I’ve been lucky, but my knees, among other things, are gone. In the past 45 years, I’ve probably handled, loaded and fed, 15,000 tons of hay with Robbin’s help, but looking back, it was the 500 tons in 2013 that did the real damage.

It’s been a blessing having Lee Loverin and Terri Blanke feed for the past two seasons, as well as fix and build fence, help gather and work our cattle. They know the ranch and our routine and take it seriously.

Cropped and shot with a Canon 100-400mm zoom, I should have known the girls were separately counting cows and calves to make sure everyone was present and accounted for—it’s part of our job when we feed. But at 300 yards away, I took the photo for a different aesthetic. With the photo enlarged, imagine my pride, and my relief, knowing the girls are getting the job done right, and that the ranch can get along fine without me being a part of every single thing. Now that’s a treat.

 

Weekly Photo Challenge (2): “Treat”

 

7 Comments

Posted in Photographs, Ranch Journal

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ANOTHER SURVIVOR

Posted on October 26, 2015 by | 3 comments

 

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Gun in the scabbard,
shooting with a camera,
the world stays the same.

 

3 Comments

Posted in Haiku 2015, Photographs, Ranch Journal

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BLACKTAIL BUCKS

Posted on October 13, 2015 by | 3 comments

 

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Blurs that stir the heart
banked in brush without a shot
for another day.

 

3 Comments

Posted in Haiku 2015, Photographs, Ranch Journal

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PAST

Posted on September 8, 2015 by | 2 comments

 

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Yearning is an easy look
backwards, a slow-moving canvas
colored to taste, shaded by habit.

Our war whoops but echoes
fading in canyons on trails of broken
brush long-overgrown, mocking

our wild-eyed blindness
since sharpened and tempered
by scars upon scars and time.

Now is the moment we begin
to be all we can—to revel
in its rich accomplishment.

 

2 Comments

Posted in Photographs, Poems 2015

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WHEN WE QUIT

Posted on July 19, 2015 by | 5 comments

 

When we quit questioning,
when darkness falls
upon the wilderness of wonder,

are we afraid
of our imagination,
of other possibilities

among the night songs?
How full and fresh the child
that asks and asks, that sees

the disconnected weave
a vibrant tapestry!
How stale is he

that wears the answers
chiseled in a cave
to recite by braille.

 

5 Comments

Posted in Poems 2015

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LEGACY

Posted on July 10, 2015 by | 4 comments

 

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1.
Never a straight line, we bend
with the channel of the creek
with or without water, jobs

shouting at every turn, begging
for attention. I love it now,
seasoned and with purpose,

place after place to pour my soul,
to get it right. Chances are
my fence repairs will outlast me,

gates will swing, troughs hold water
out of respect for the ground—
for the cattle and those around me.

2.
Never a straight line, cows cut trails
on perfect grades, leave soft dust
to plod tomorrow without thinking,

make beds in shade for generations
they will never know. In the end
it becomes our nature to make

living easier on the uneven,
on the unpredictable and the harsh
that will eventually absorb us.

Chances are, no one will notice,
no applause for our best effort—
only the knowing a job well done.

 

 

WPC(2) — “Doors”

 

4 Comments

Posted in Photographs, Poems 2015

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GRAVITY

Posted on May 8, 2015 by | 15 comments

 

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                             I am growing downward,
                             smaller, one among the grasses.
                                  – Wendell Berry (“Thirty More Years”)

I knew when I was young
and proud, I had found my place
on this ground—my limbs

could support me for as long
as they were sound—living
where the work was hard.

I was not afraid of time
and grinned at gravity,
rode the edges of ridges down

behind cattle, shaping me
to fit the landscape
eventually or die.

I scratch among the grasses now,
learn the language of birds
and flowers, the expression

of horses and families of cattle—
all the tattered glories of youth
bent closer to what counts.

 

15 Comments

Posted in Photographs, Poems 2015

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CLICHÉS

Posted on April 30, 2015 by | 4 comments

 

The clichés rained
when I was young
like hollow outlines

I was destined to fill
with real details—
sayings tested with

practice dodging
bullets with agility
and dumb luck

to get old enough
to speak at funerals
of a few good friends

who rode with me,
or saw it all
from a distance:

no straight track
ricocheting minefields
heavily invested

in the senses. But
no longer hackneyed
hints for youth,

they become fresh,
reborn with answers
at our fingertips.

 

4 Comments

Posted in Poems 2015

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AFTER AWHILE

Posted on April 20, 2015 by | 10 comments

 

                        You others, we the very old have a country.
                        A passport costs everything there is.
                              – William Stafford (“Waiting in Line”)

Circles mapped to save steps on sure ground,
well-worn routine from barn to mangers,
feed and irrigate with the right tools

to mend our presence along the way—few
loose pages nowadays, at the ready—gathers
to brand and wean replayed, filed by pasture.

I remember the old dogs refreshing scent posts
in the last of the light before they slept
into forever, and all the old horses in the dark

nosing buckets trying to bring the sun—
and my father’s careful words, after awhile,
you have to get used to not being first in line.

 

10 Comments

Posted in Poems 2015

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