A boy’s bed upon the ground,
I stared at stars and wondered
if I was worth keeping alive
as I slept, if I could trust
the darkness to hold me
safe until morning—
looking up through
all the bright holes
of a rusty bucket sky,
connecting dreams
with a greater light
beyond the night—
I drew lines in the sky,
played dot-to-dot
instead of counting sheep.
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2015
Tagged dark, light, photographs, poetry, prayer, religion, youth
Of all the spontaneous art, none
more trustworthy, more enthralling
than the wild mirrors—of heart
and grace without guilt pulsing
to get free, rising with the ascension
of ducks from cattails, clear droplets
raining from webbed feet etched
to hang on white cloud walls
to draws us in—and then, like
windows out to where we might
want to be—like poetry, learning
to fly with words a little at a time.
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2015
Tagged American Widgeon, art, birds, Dry Creek, ducks, photographs, poetry, rain, spontaneous art, water, wild, wildlife
of this dirt
we burrow deeper into our shells
waiting for a rain.
Posted in Haiku 2015, Photographs, Ranch Journal
Tagged birds, Burrowing Owls, Drought, Dry Creek, haiku, photographs, poetry, weather, wildlife
Maggie Loverin checks her pork loins adorned with grapefruit and oranges after we branded our Wagyu X calves yesterday, while the sun tried to break through the bad-air haze and remnants of Valley fog.
Noticeably quicker and more unpredictable to rope than our Angus calves, the Wagyu are a challenge to head and heel, real work for everyone. But we had a great day and ate well!
Well into our branding season now, we’re beginning to wear down a little, especially with the extra weight of wondering and worrying when it’s going to rain, repercussions of the drought still raw. One topic of conversation in the branding pen included the different kinds of bloat, fairly rare to most of us, but taking casualties in Antelope Valley, half-mile west of here.
All that methane gas that can’t escape inflates the cow and kills her usually leaving an orphan calf—a slurry of foamy gas in the cow’s rumen that can’t be released with an external needle or tube down her throat was news to us, that has come from our lush and washy feed in certain places on the flat ground, mostly filaree. We’ve had several of our cows blow up and subside on their own with a regular supplement of dry hay. There are also commercial free-choice products to prevent bloat that take time to incorporate into the cow’s system, but without assurance that everyone gets some.
How long this situation will last is unknown, but we know a rain would change things. With no likelihood for the rest of the month from any weather-predicting source, we get the work done in love with what we do.
Posted in Photographs, Ranch Journal
Tagged Bovine bloat, branding, Calves, Drought, Dry Creek, photographs, rain, Wagyu X, weather
But traces in quiet fog:
ridgeline of the barn roof,
cold parts of the corral
float in and out of gray
closing in upon our fire—
forms of horses look
for hazy movement
in this fuzzy moment
shut away from hills
and towns beyond, the world
and its miseries. All
we have accomplished near
at hand, close to fading
into nothingness
and I am relieved
of the weight of urgency—
perfectly helpless
to change a thing.
© 2013 Earl McKee Photo
Old men in the branding pen
hope for grace
to find the feel of singing loop
slide between their fingers—
of hoof dance timed and shaped
to catch two feet, slack to dally horn
come tight, as if it were nothing
out of the ordinary.
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2015, Ranch Journal
Tagged age, branding, Calves, feel, feeling, Greasy Creek, Old men, photographs, poetry
Posted in Haiku 2015, Photographs, Poems 2015
Tagged Dry Creek, Echinopsis oxygona, garden, haiku, photographs, poetry, weekly-photo-challenge
Posted in Haiku 2015, Photographs, Poems 2015
Tagged Dry Creek, haiku, photographs, poetry, Sulphur Peak, weather, weekly-photo-challenge
May 2, 2012
Arms open—
none happier in May
to flower, fold and fade away.
Posted in Haiku 2015, Photographs
Tagged Dry Creek, flower-friday, Golden Brodiaea, haiku, photographs, poetry, Pretty Face, Triteleia ixioides, wildflowers
I used to think that inside the deep heart
of the world gone wild, that we all wanted,
craved, needed, or would acquiesce to,
a yet to be identified
common soul:
a ‘peace and love’ tranquility
where we all got along
with our dreams—
a musical, moaning chorus of ‘oohs’ and ‘ahs’
that kept us busy feeling fine as frog hair,
trying harder to make life better for everyone.
But how could heaven’s everlasting light
be so great without a dark side, without the moon
rising in new places dressed in different phases
behind the skeletons of oak and tops of pine?
Rain and storm for free.
Life from dust, the miracle
of green reaching up
to seed itself
against adversity
should be enough to brave the skullduggery
of all the power-hungry opportunists that slink
and lurk in the shadows. And what of poetry
rooted in the illusion of pillowed clouds?
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2015
Tagged clouds, dark, grass, photographs, poetry, rain, seed, storm, the deep heart of the world gone wild, water, weather, wildlife
