Tag Archives: silence

THE VOCAL MINORITY

Posted on January 7, 2025 by | 2 comments 

Night showers, cold damp dawn,
intense coyote octaves shrill—an eerie 
screaming claims the canyon

as I search for forgotten details 
for the morning’s branding, 
worried for baby calves

before the crew arrives
for coffee and last minute
plans.  What rarity has triggered

this assault on silence, what wild 
imperative, what joy requires
such passionate agreement?

What have I missed
not learning the language
after fifty-five years?



I really dislike word press. I have wasted too much time today simply trying to pass along a comment on your blog entry today about coyotes. Before I moved to la la land north, at the ranch I used to enjoy this vocal minority calling to each other from valley floor (even if at times it sounded as if it was coming from just outside our bedroom window) to the upper hills and then beyond into the canyons and back again. Lonely.  Eerie.  Beautiful.
Keep on writing, my friend. You weave beautiful poetry beyond telling city folks about life (mostly work) on the ranch up Dry Creek Road. 

s




2 Comments

Posted in Photographs, Poems 2025, Ranch Journal

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SLEEPING BEES

Posted on December 23, 2023 by | 3 comments

 

A bower for sleeping bees,

the ground begs softly

beneath the burning trees

to foster cotyledons

and change the canyon green.

 

No cars on the road,

silence weighs heavily,

not a bird or bull’s bawl

to claim the open space

that’s come alive.

 

The gray sky witness

floats in a cloud-fog

damp and undemanding

as the long pause of winter

moves into a new beginning.

 

 

 

 

3 Comments

Posted in Photographs, POEMS 2023, poetry, Ranch Journal

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LISTENING IN FOG

Posted on November 30, 2015 by | 7 comments

 

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                                  And, nothing himself, beholds
                                  Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is.
                                            – Wallace Stevens (“The Snow Man”)

Always the backdrop
of deep pipe songs
awakening at dawn—

Roadrunners in rockpiles
like coyotes at night
finding one another.

Or the late November chill
of sequestered bulls
pacing the barbed wire,

their primal trumpeting
echoes up and down canyon
searching for the company

of work, sweet work.
The quiet moments
in between are cold

before and after
a good hard rain
when fog rolls in,

up canyon,
spilling over ridges
to wall the world away

in opaque gray
swallowing sound
to leave you lost,

disconnected, alone
with only the thought
of becoming nothing.

 

7 Comments

Posted in Photographs, Poems 2015

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