Red wave at dawn,
upcanyon forecast north
before the storms,
the rapid fire
atmospheric rivers,
before El Niño
or whatever clever
weathermen
tag as fresh nomenclature,
acronyms, fodder
for the inner ear to file
and the mind to find.
Red wave at dawn,
upcanyon forecast north
before the storms.
Posted in Photographs, POEMS 2023, poetry
Tagged Atmospheric River, El Nino, photography, poetry, rain, weather
It’s been years since
we circled the section
of steep pasture between
the creek and Antelope Valley,
reading tracks and trading
memories of battling bucks—
the merge of gathers
spinning in a blur
of wild oats.
It’s how the ground reminds us
who we were and who we are
once again.
Posted in Photographs, POEMS 2023, poetry, Ranch Journal
Tagged Dry Creek, memories, partners, photography, poetry
We’ve enjoyed the striking colors of the dahlias and zinnias in the garden during a relatively mild summer this year, with bouquets of both inside and out of the house. They have drawn a host of Monarch Butterflies after a bountiful year for the Showy Milkweed in our upper country. What great weather to wait for a rain!
Posted in Photographs, Ranch Journal
Tagged Dry Creek, Monarch Butterfly, photography, weather, zinnia
With coffee or cocktails, the tree frogs have kept us amused on the deck with death defying leaps off the table and railing, or this one at home in a dahlia that Robbin picked and stuck in a flower pot of chives.
I am lost to the race, off course
to pause among the tree frogs
headed home to flower pots
after a night on the window glass
below the porch light
ambushing moths. Or the quail
bailing from the grapefruit tree
at first light to awakening titters
before scanning for hawks.
There is no itch for riches
or the prizes advertised
at the Finish Line.
Posted in Deck Poems, Photographs, POEMS 2023, poetry
Tagged Finish Line, photography, poetry, quail, the race, tree frogs
Dew dampened dust, softened wild oat stems,
petrichor on a downcanyon breeze at four
in the black morning that smells like rain
just around the corner in October. I check
the 10-day forecast, craving a storm like always,
but content to paint the gray, slow drip
off roof and limb. Nothing but hurricanes
busy elsewhere as the planet goes to hell
as if the very End were near, knocking
on the door to who knows what
or which tragic prediction or wretched
explosion will engulf and fling
our fractured souls to the solar burn pile.
Dew dampened dust, softened wild oat stems,
petrichor on a downcanyon breeze.
Posted in Photographs, POEMS 2023, poetry, Ranch Journal
Tagged community, forecast, petrichor, photography, poetry, rain, very END, weather
songs that
without an us there’s no reason for a me.
– George Perreault “walking the dry ditch”)
Coyotes touching bases across the canyon’s canyons
shatters distance within the black, primal intonations
that combat loneliness and comfort the flesh.
The dogs have learned to howl with lyrics of their own
to claim their space, protect their home. Each octave
of our quartet has a name in the dark.
Today, there’s no excuse to be without music,
to swim away with joy and pain from phones
that lift us, that practice and test ascension
for when the time comes. How I admire
and envy its makers, how I sing along
as if no other reason for a me.
No point waiting for a rain to start the green
until October, and even then it’s blasphemy
to pray or say the word out loud to anyone—
especially with El Niño mapped and gathering
off shore, lapping Jeffer’s granite with warm waves
of poetry—just load and feed the hay like always.
No point worrying about the news a thousand miles away
or all the hobgoblins waiting in ambush down the road
littered with deceptions and diversions, lust and greed
to greet you—just load and feed the hay like always.
Posted in POEMS 2023, poetry, Ranch Journal
Tagged Dry Creek, El Nino, feed hay, news, photography, poetry, politics, rain, weather
The acrid smell of battle
in the disturbed ground:
Turkey Mullein vs. Vinegarweed
claiming more territory
to choke out grasses—
that knee-high cling and tell
where you’ve been
and your approach to life.
After a good wet spring,
I smell my father here,
twenty-five years
after his departure
and remember
his lace-up Chippawas
busting clods behind a plow.
Posted in Photographs, POEMS 2023, poetry, Ranch Journal
Tagged chippawa boots, father, photography, poetry, rain, Turkey Mullein, vinegarweed, weather
I’m watching black heifers
on dry blond grass
mill around water, salt and mineral —
slow motion contentment,
they have begun
to move like cows,
bodies thickening,
they plod deliberately
towards the open gate
to the near hills where
tall feed waves
for their attention.
I imagine turning the virgin
bulls out in ninety days,
the teenage antics,
the final settling of the seed
and the cash-flow we’ll surely need
twenty-one months from now.
Posted in Photographs, POEMS 2023, poetry, Ranch Journal
Tagged autumnal equinox, first-calf heifers, photography, poetry
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