Afternoon Heat

Afternoon Heat

Sometimes
when we feel a tinge of heat
fevorishly, an afternooner happens,
we grab an hour of love while lumbering tortoises
crawl over sandhills, seeking respite
from the desert sun.

Birth of a Salmon Smolt

Birth of a Salmon Smolt

It was born in the morning
Groping for life
Its fins wriggling and busy,
Groping too, its smooth scales
A meek, measurable weight
in a new world. Where is she
that birthed this minnow?
Its life has come in solitude,
The lonely must fend for themselves.

Life Beyond a Cell Phone

Life Beyond a Cell Phone

Plugged-in, they drop out of nature
like zombies on a moon walk

Plugged-in, their nervous systems evolve
like crack addicts lurching for a hit

Plugged-in, they forget the color of the sky,
the sea, the backyard juniper trees;

they eat and text, ballooning up like bloated
cows at an alfalfa festival

Plugged-in, they deafly call and dumbly listen,
robotic responses from robot minds.

Plugged-in, and connected, they disconnect
from all but a narrow screen, a stream

Of nothingness infused with meaning by peers,
sanctioned by parents eager to please

Plugged-in, they spiral earthward, numbed
by indulgence and self-gratification,

staring into cyberspace, androids waiting
for the next message affirming existence,

fearing an unplugged universe full of
stars, planets and possibilities.

Home Again

Home Again

After absence the homing instinct
kicks in, gravitational pull of love
tugs the tender heart succinct ,

prods horses with a gentle shove
after a hard day beneath the plough,
bound for home like the morning dove

or homing pigeon's flight from bough
to bough, along a chosen path.
After absence, home seems sweeter now-

a warm respite from life's wrath,
a getaway from labor's harms,
a familiar meal and a hot bath.

After absence, nature works its charms-
resets the clock of hearth and home,
with welcomes wrapped in loving arms

Trees Have Muscles

Trees Have Muscles

Exercising in the strong wind,
The trees swing back and forth
in unison like ballet dancers.
Pliable limbs strengthening against
each swirling gust in nature's gym.
Until today I didn't know that trees
had muscles.

The Art of Being Second to Last

The Art of Being Second to Last

Never last, but penultimate
Out of the gate
Second to last
Not very fast

Penultimaters play their part
A special art
Ahead of one
Under the gun

Almost like a wallflower's first date
Penultimate
They never lose
Just wear slow shoes.

Bitter Tea

Bitter Tea

Wispy wusiness, waffling of words,
Cliché-ridden conundrums
Salacious sloganeering,
Sans substance
Characterizes the crassness
Of totalitarian tea-baggers
Bandying about banners
Of bogeymen, faux
Commercial-fisherwomen
Fiddling in fire, gaggling
In gibberish to crowds
Of classless coneheads
Following the flock
Like extinct bison
Behind a herd bull
Leaping to sure death
Over a buffalo jump.
Rappelling to repeal is
Hazardous to Health.

When I Awake

When I Awake

The poem, my fix, begins the day
Takes me away
Rights my ship
Without a blip

The bard's word my inspiration
Pure elation
To soothe my soul
Render me whole

The poem, the sun, a perfect pair
In air so rare
I find my way
Above the fray

Spring Arrives

Spring Arrives

Lord give us pleasure in the changing season,
And let us not dwell on any reason
As the uncertain future filled with fear
And lessen hope in the spring of the year

Give us the courage to be as a child
Smelling the lilacs and running wild
Listening to meadowlarks beckon the sun
Over meadows where cool rivers run

Oh give us contentment in our lives today,
And let us not to the distant stray
As the fickle future always unknown
Hears only its own voice and tone

Oh give us the freedom to fly like a kite
To weave up, down, left or right

Invasion- March19, 2003

Invasion- March 19, 2003

Seven years to the day it began
Without a plan
Persuasion
Then invasion

Proclaimed victory short and sweet
Then came defeat
And gaping jaw
Of shock and awe

Saadam fell and then was hung
The Shiites sung
Victory songs
Righted some wrongs

Seven years to the day it began
In shifting sand-
Our blood remains
In desert rains

Red tide

Red Tide

I smelled an odor by the sea
As if my senses knew,
I longed to touch it, waft by waft,
But could not find its hue

The scent beneath I sought to pair
Close to a life I knew
But connection simply was not there
Like red within a sea of blue.

Desert Cycle

Desert Cycle

Yucca is in its springtime bloom
The arroyo gulch is dry
Under the April crescent moon the desert
Hears a coyote’s cry.
Upon the shifting sand among the dunes
Are natural love tunes.

My seventieth season has come upon me
Since I first left my home;
I know before I am well -finished
I will surely roam
My heart has not grown old
Passion and love remain, still bold

I have gazed into these luminous decades
And now my soul is calm
I’ve changed since first seeing this skyline,
The desert has become my balm
The night –sounds of crawling creatures in my ear
Creep with a lesser fear

Unhurried now, minute by minute
I dabble in my art
Inscrutable schemes in rarefied air
Images straight from the heart
Emotion and intellect fuse where they will,
Depend upon a thrill

And now I glide on the shifting dune,
Beautiful, mysterious;
Above the music, ever so faint
As the season finally serious
Blossoms into full bloom
Before inevitable doom

A Blue Day

A Blue Day

Today is dark and bleak
The sun hides behind the hill
The soul is starved and weak

The quiet river dares not speak
The body feels the cold chill
Today is dark and bleak

Your warmth is what I seek
For my emptiness to fill
The soul is starved and weak

Needs gentle hands. A meek
Touch to restore the broken will
Today is dark and bleak

Shadows cover the swollen creek
Birds quiver on the windowsill
The soul is starved and weak

Without the company I seek
Awaits your presence to fulfill
Today is dark and bleak
The soul is starved and weak

On Discovering My Family Tree

On Discovering My Family Tree

More like a forest than a tree
My lineage spans generations
Family spreads from sea to sea
Like an ocean of crustaceans

Features a lot like you and me
DNA passed through celebrations
More like a forest than a tree
My lineage spans generations

Pioneers in the land of the free
Living on high expectations
A respite from dark tyranny
They came in waves of migrations
More like a forest than a tree

A Soldier Returns to Afghanistan

A Soldier Returns to Afghanistan

That Sunday, I felt sad leaving again:
Up until about
Five-thirty in my tortured brain
Did my almost-full- plane pull out
All engines roar, all seatbelts on, all chance
Of seeing her again soon gone. We flew
Over the tops of mountains, crossed a peak
Of raging snowstorms, felt the aircraft dance.
The cloud's even drifting breathe soon blew
Where sky and love's desire and war reek

Perfect Storm

Perfect storm

Today, the rain a surging tide
The howling wind a blustery gale,
Perfect storm for a winter's tale,
A spun yarn by the warm fireside

Ideal weather to set the sail,
Follow dreams on a joyous ride
Today, the rain a surging tide
The howling wind a blustery gale,

Idyllic day to remain inside,
Hear the tempest on hill and dale-
Drink tea, Read a book, plot a trail,
Meditate on the Holy Grail

Today, the rain a surging tide,
The howling wind a blustery gale.

At First Trailer Light

At First Trailer Light

Ambient air arouses the valley.
A hint of nature's scent.
Chilled bones creak, and crawl

out of comforting warm covers,
moving like snails in the frigid
morning trailer air.

Passive, contemplative the mood,
no fear, anger or dread-
only admiration for the mountains.

Still, snow-covered, blowing
winter's breath, expelling energy
to jumpstart human engines.

Dreaming

Dreaming

What was I dreaming of last night?
All those floating faces in the stream,
grinning over the houses and trees,
or flying from star to star like that,
forever round and round in circles,
headless faces intoxicated, laughing.

Everything I dreamt was strange.
I peed behind the billboard over the freeway,
then I was surrounded by 100 cop cars
spotlighting me beneath "Hollywood"-
the famous hillside sign.
Wondering about cheerleaders shouting
my name, cheering gimme a "P".

Familiar faces, visages of the dead
hovering on the fringe of Freudian
hypothesis. Waiting for epiphany,
a startling awakening, Sleep breaks,
memory dissolves. Awake, unsolved
the mystery of the netherworld.
I start the morning coffee.

Winter in the Bitterroots

Winter in the Bitterroots

Stop; the large antlered elk
Bugling from the mountain's peak; listen.

Up there: the herd bull, high
And trumpeting, sounding the entire herd.

Down there: its mate replying, squealing
Shrill and urgent, echoing their need.

The frigid foothills inhale
Their music, soft, easy, and now both

Bugle at once, symphonious

Fall arrives and disappears.
Eerie silence covers frozen tundra,

Thick snow blankets the ground,
Solid ice hardens the rivers,

ice in the blue heron's nesting
Ground, asleep for the winter.

Life suspended in the dark woods.
Today the steepled silence peals

Like church bells calling the faithful,
Loud and clear, deep in sleep

Now the large herd covers
The hill, the alpha bull's bugling sounds

Strength and resonance, they follow
An icy trail, pair up mates

And loping in long strides, make
A getaway, separate and apart, to measure

The snow blind junction they must cross
Over silent white meadows,

The silent black hills, where they gauge
Tomorrow's chances, gauge

Each moment, separate and alone.

G Spot

The elusive erogenous zone said to exist in some women may be a myth, say researchers who have hunted for it...BBC News

G Spot

Researchers hunted for the thing
most evenings
among the stars
beneath the cars
elusive erogenous zone
hiding alone
a secret spot
a hooded dot
in a burrow incognito
love's torpedo
lost in space
without a trace

Two Thousand and X Or?

Two Thousand and X Or?

A new year is here again,
What should I say?
Two thousand and ten?
A new year is here again,
Or twenty ten.?
It's a brand new day.
A new year is here again,
What should I say?