Tag Archives: rainbow

THE SONG

 

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It’s not about you—
and not about to change
the weather or politics.

You are helpless,
at the mercy of the swirl
of elements colliding,

ricochets and explosions,
occasional clear views
of space and landscape

that keep you leaning forward
into the sun, your shadow cast
upon a fading track of small

accomplishment. After a rain
every tree frog sings
as if spring depended on it.

 

BLACK INK

 

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Crown on ice
waiting for a rain
in a water glass

for me and this
yellow pad
to storm black ink,

prolong spring
with fresh metaphors
for resilience.

 

POT OF GOLD

 

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No longer children
chasing rainbows,
we want to believe

the drought is over—
look to the mountains
to shield our souls

from insistent cities
and a world at war.
Like native Yokuts

we want to believe
the ground can hold us
before we leave.

               ~

 

A trace of rain up-canyon yesterday afternoon as I looked up from my desk, inside after an 1.5” of rain, sorting poetry for another collection—working title: “The Best of the Dry Years”, 2013, 2014, 2015. A formidable task, like sorting 90 head from 900, it will take many more rainy days to complete.

The photo has that postcard-look of not quite real, a reminder of what a little rain can bring. Yet, I harbor some skepticism, not ready to say the drought is over, to set ourselves up for disappointment. But it sure feels good, nonetheless.

 

Weekly Photo Challenge(3): “Treat”

 

OLD DAYS

 

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She could have stayed
longer, spent the night
pelting the roof,
roaring like a river

over boulders, flashing
foothill silhouettes
to cracks of thunder
like in the old days.

 

 

wordpress.com/dp_photo_challenge/blur/

 

SHE

 

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It was good to see her,
visiting like a sister
forty days late
with much on her mind.

Never aging and beautiful,
she spent the afternoon
outside in the gray—
left a rainbow behind.

 

NEVER ALONE

 

Easter 2013

Easter 2013

 

I made a joke of it:
attending funerals
as the price of survival—

saying goodbye, adios
as their souls ascended
to meet eternity, look

down occasionally
on our plight
of being human

and whisper in our ears.
With no wants,
they must envy

the depth of our passion
and its sensitive
entanglements, our pride

erected and dedicated
for their inspection.
We are never alone.

 

 

WPC(3) — “Rule of Thirds”