Mid-San Joaquin summer,
you can set your watch
by cows coming off the pasture
to Valley Oaks at seven-thirty—
back out into the blazing sun
by noon, breezes off the green.
Not one gossipy complaint
among them, chewing cuds,
relishing the timeless shade.
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2014
Tagged cows, Drought, Dry Creek, photographs, poetry, time, weather
When all that follows
begins with a kiss
that only lasts a moment.
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2014
Tagged haiku, Jess and Jaro, Kauai, photographs, poetry, weekly-photo-challenge
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2014
Tagged Dry Creek, haiku, photographs, poetry, weather, weekly-photo-challenge
Glancing up at one of many windows
in a dream, and she preoccupied—
what was it then that hungered so
to be noticed, what little boy revisits
my mortality, what mother of us all
plants a seed that grows and grows
into the damnedest things, like poetry?
As for love and wisdom, what value
then if not gained first hand?
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2014
Tagged corrals, Gooseneck, Greasy Creek, haiku, photographs, poetry, Sulphur Ridge, weekly-photo-challenge
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2014
Tagged Drought, Dry Creek, haiku, Hay, photographs, poetry, rain, weather, weekly-photo-challenge
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2014
Tagged Drought, Greasy Creek, haiku, photographs, poetry, rain, water, weather, weekly-photo-challenge
I sing—to what listens—again.
– Wendell Berry (“To What Listens”)
I cannot match the Canyon Wren’s sheer cascade
of octaves through brittle Manzanita, spilling over
granite boulders, each note searching for a home
or the strike, light and crack of a cold summer
thunderstorm in tall pines and damp cedar duff
beyond the fire—middle-of-nowhere—beyond
narrow roads and ‘lectric lights, the burnt scent
of moments mixed off to join the world in a gust.
I yearn for the source, map each in my mind
and like calling cattle to me: sing, awaken
canyons with old vocal chords turned free
and loose, a crackly a cappella of my own.
And they come out of chemise, off mountains
of oak trees, to the familiar, like good friends.
I sing—to what listens—again.
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2014
Tagged calling cattle, cows, Greasy Creek, photographs, poetry, sing, Spanish Flat, Wendell Berry
An easy balance of wills
at work, a dance
on uneven landscapes.
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2014
Tagged Clarence Holdbrooks, Greasy Creek, haiku, photographs, poetry, Trigger, Yellow Roan of Texas
I often wondered
why some old men
liked college kids
around, leaking
basic adventures
that felt full
and familiar
despite the times—
ageless naïveté
seasoned with passion
to pump the blood
into guffaws
and unsolicited
windies with a moral
learned the hard way.
I look back
to see them now
and myself
as a diversion
for old wrecks
just like me.
drycrikjournal 