Tag Archives: Dry Creek

REAL LIFE

Posted on February 23, 2015 by John | 5 comments

Whitetip Clover (Trifolium variegatum) – March 24, 2013

In the dark I hear the heartbeat
of another world on this planet
the newscasts miss, we overlook

amid conflicting calculations
with new angles on the numbers
to chart a course to reverse them—

eyes spinning within a slot machine.
Light applause on the roof
answers with one more encore

wrenched from early morning’s
black sky, each green blade,
thick as dog hair in these hills

puddled with brightly colored petals
already reaching for first light.
In the dark I hear the heartbeat

of wet ground growing stronger,
inhale its sweet breath
all-around me releasing life.

WPC(2) — “Rule of Thirds”

5 Comments

Posted in Photographs, Poems 2015

Tagged Drought, Dry Creek, grass, photographs, poetry, rain, water, weather, weekly-photo-challenge, Whitetip Clover, wildflowers

ALMOST MARCH

Posted on February 21, 2015 by John | 4 comments

Thin veil of snow on the Kaweahs—
granite shows on peaks undressing.
The creek slows and disappears

as the thirsty earth drinks miles
from the river, puddled behind a dam
that will not fill the Valley’s furrows.

Tan medallions, last spring’s leaves
quiver from brittle fingers of oak trees
sprinkling green hills, giving centuries

of rainfall back as decomposing homes
for smaller survivors. It is not over
despite a forecast chance of rain—

dry seasons last, leave evidence only
years of floods can erase. Almost March,
the buzzards have returned early

circling an easy harmony of generations
gone—each clear voice rising,
we hear assurance and good advice.

4 Comments

Posted in Photographs, Poems 2015, Ranch Journal

Tagged birds, Blue Oak, buzzards, Drought, Dry Creek, Great Western Divide, Kaweah, Kaweah River, photographs, poetry, rain, water, weather, wildlife, Yokuts

WILD HYACINTH

Posted on February 19, 2015 by John | 2 comments

Wild Hyacinth (Dichelostemma capitatum)
February 16, 2015

No perfect flower,
yet we hunger for beauty
greater than nature.

2 Comments

Posted in Haiku 2015, Photographs, Poems 2015, Ranch Journal

Tagged Blue Dicks, Dry Creek, haiku, Niggertoe, photographs, poetry, Wild Hyacinth, wildflowers

CORRALS

Posted on February 15, 2015 by John | 6 comments

Our square creations
become places for the wild
to relax and roost.

WPC(2) — “Symmetry”

6 Comments

Posted in Haiku 2015, Photographs, Poems 2015

Tagged birds, corrals, Dry Creek, Egrets, haiku, photographs, poetry, weekly-photo-challenge, wildlife

SYMMETRY

Posted on February 14, 2015 by John | 3 comments

May 18, 2014

A crop of fat calves
just weaned from relieved mothers
like peas in a pod.

WPC(1) — “Symmetry”

3 Comments

Posted in Haiku 2015, Photographs, Poems 2015

Tagged Calves, cows, Dry Creek, haiku, photographs, poetry, weekly-photo-challenge

OLD NEIGHBORS

Posted on February 12, 2015 by John | 10 comments

                        By the excellence of his work the workman is a neighbor.
                        By selling only what he would not despise to own
                        the salesman is a neighbor. By selling what is good
                        his character survives the market.
                              – Wendell Berry (“Prayers and Sayings of the Mad Farmer”)

We wish success for all our neighbors, fat
calves and money enough to buy good bulls
looking for work on our side of the fence,
and ours on theirs, despite best intentions.

Today, old neighbors come to help brand calves
with respect—rope, stretch and vaccinate
rambunctious children to a slow waltz—
to share the bounty of our heritage

despite the drought, despite the cows
we had to sell to save the others
and ourselves. Character upon this ground,
we have survived weather and the market.

10 Comments

Posted in Poems 2015

Tagged "Prayers and Sayings of the Mad Farmer", Calves, cows, Drought, Dry Creek, Mad Farmer, neighbor, neighbors, poetry, rain, weather, Wendell Berry

METAL ROOFS

Posted on February 11, 2015 by John | 11 comments

                        Let me wake in the night
                        and hear it raining
                        and go back to sleep.
                              – Wendell Berry (“Prayers and Sayings of the Mad Farmer”)

The lullaby that soothes my brain,
a metal roof under rain, proof
of gods and goddesses on the job

while I rest completely—let night
take me unafraid anywhere it wants
until the glistening of puddled mornings

blind me with glimpses of paradise
upon this earth, wet and wanting
nothing more from rustic religions.

Every church should acoustically angle
its spires and ridgelines to accentuate
these heaven’s gifts—and to withstand

retribution’s thunderous roar while
renting and gnashing huddle beneath
the storms that flood the rivers muddy.

We are not the architects, nor the nomads
chasing rain from place to place with herds
anymore. We pray instead for basic

sustenance to run upon and off our roofs,
season after season—no two the same—
to wake in the night and hear it raining.

11 Comments

Posted in Poems 2015

Tagged "Prayers and Sayings of the Mad Farmer", Drought, Dry Creek, Mad Farmer, Metal Roofs, poetry, rain, water, weather, Wendell Berry

GOOD LUCK FISHING

Posted on February 10, 2015 by John | 2 comments

                         Don’t pray for the rain to stop.
                         Pray for good luck fishing
                         when the river floods.
                                – Wendell Berry (“Prayers and Sayings of the Mad Farmer”)

And we will fish reflection pools
with Egrets and Great Blue Herons, wade
cloudy skies when the creek subsides

listening to the glorious chorus of tree frogs
croaking symphonies from fresh verdancy—
the canyon clean, all tracks erased

but for the moment to begin again.
What better luck can any god offer
a mad farmer, or mankind?

April 1968: my feet wet with fishing
the great white limbs of sycamores,
naked canopies reflected below me,

recording fresh soliloquies on war
that have not changed but for poetic
editing each time the creek rises—

hope still claims high water marks
beyond the creek bank, despite
clear-cut scars upon this landscape

after a decade’s invasion of machinery
from towns craving to become cities.
We pray yet for good luck fishing.