Moonrise, mottled skies,
jigsaw clouds like islands
floating between us and the space
old eyes need to find sanity,
but tonight’s fractured skyscape
is enough.
Moonrise, mottled skies,
jigsaw clouds like islands
floating between us and the space
old eyes need to find sanity,
but tonight’s fractured skyscape
is enough.
Bob has been waiting for this cow to calve for a week, checking her and her tribe of first-calf heifers in the evenings. I am impressed with the iPhone’s ability to capture a wide range of light, and if held still, its sharpness. He’s also captured the maternal instincts of this new mother #8118, a Hereford-Angus X cow, with her fresh Wagyu X calf – exactly what we’re looking for in replacement heifers.
IO
On the horns of an infant moon,
the creek shrinks and pools
between sycamores and live oaks
as babies come to first-time mothers
bringing the bear tracks downcanyon
on the scent of spent placentas.
Black progeny of the river nymph –
white heifer driven madly by Hera’s
gadfly Oestrus to cross continents
and populate Asia – find maternity
perplexing at first. Yet, lick and nuzzle
the stumbling wet struggle to stand,
suckle and rest that enflames instinct
in all flesh. Worthy timeless worship,
no better mother ever than a cow.
“IO” is included in POEMS FROM DRY CREEK, Starhaven, 2008.
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2019, Ranch Journal
Tagged Calves, cows, IO, iPhone photo, photography, poetry, Wagyu X
Laugh when you can—
there are enough unfunny days.
Let irony dance nakedly,
hand in hand
with the unspoken,
mundane truths
that squirm
beneath the flesh of humans
dying for confirmation.
We have become too serious
for our own good—
too holy,
too righteous
to be believed as real
representations of this nation
wrought from imperfect men,
and women, trying to forget
their sins—and I among them.
Let the wild calculations
of hawk and coyote confirm
our impetuous natures
to gain a better sense
of humor—
of who we truly are.
(click image to enlarge July 2012 photo of Cooper’s Hawk)
Followers of the blog and and Facebook friends may be bored with our photographs of cattle, but it’s the most exiting time of year for us and our crew as the weather changes. It’s essential that we keep our eyes on our coming two-year old heifers that are having their first Wagyu X calves by recording their tag numbers and any other information that will help inform us as to whether they’ll make the cow herd or not—and to a less anxious degree, our second-calf heifers as well.
The twin bull calves from cow #3054, a mature six year old cow, appear to be sired by our Black Granite bull from Tehama Angus Ranch, spitting images of him at this stage of their short lives. We think that she can raise them both.
Posted in Photographs, Ranch Journal
Tagged Calves, cows, poetry, Tehama Angus Ranch, twin calves, Wagyu X, weather
It’s early yet for rain,
for distant silhouettes
of cows and fresh calves
beneath oak trees
nurturing poetry
with murmurs and licks
on a young mother’s tongue.
A slow rhythm and meter
for weeks in the womb
that rumble clearly now:
single syllables,
grunts and moans—
a universal language
instinct pumps
forever between them.
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2019
Tagged Calves, cows, language, photography, poetry
The tin roof of this old barn
leaks news like rain and flaps
in a pretentious storm of words
it tries to shed as we huddle
in the dry with what we believe—
the sun will come to green
the dirt and repair our senses,
and we will sing Hallelujah!
rejoicing long into the night.
With evening G & Ts
we will stare
across the creek
at black hills,
white ash remains
cut by cowtrails—
pink phos-chek trim
between blond dry feed
until it rains
gray,
until it rains
green.
We map the burn,
watch the weather,
hope for ground soft-enough
to drive steel posts
for five barbed strands
of Red Brand
because good fences
make better neighbors
for a long time.
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2019, Ranch Journal
Tagged "Creek Fire", fences, photography, poetry
Posted in Haiku 2019, Photographs, Poems 2019, Ranch Journal
Tagged "Creek Fire", photography, poetry
It’s black early yet,
few lanterns glowing
across the quiet canyon,
drought-killed Blue Oaks:
roots simmering
in the rock-hard ground.
The wind will turn
the burnt to gray
until the rains
bring a fresh green
start—nothing
we can change.
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2019, Ranch Journal
Tagged "Creek Fire", CalFire, photography, poetry
Night stalks the day,
tracks the last light
over the edge
of our horizons
a slice in time away
from calvy cows
that graze the gloaming
before bedtime,
rest upon the hard
clay ground of home.
Among the gray hairs,
walkers and wheelchairs,
our game of chance:
the heartbeat’s thrill
with wild circumstance.