for the houseplant, a life
with never a breeze
never an insect to land on its leaves
dead air between the couch and chair,
his moods and her despair
lifts leaves each night though not in prayer
Sunday, August 31, 2008
Saturday, August 30, 2008
hot days, no fog discovery
just because you can’t see them
doesn’t mean they’re not there
Cassiopea beside the Redwood
sitting faintly in her chair
the dipper scooping city lights
in its giant square
(faulty compass notwithstanding
it’s finally clear where North is)
doesn’t mean they’re not there
Cassiopea beside the Redwood
sitting faintly in her chair
the dipper scooping city lights
in its giant square
(faulty compass notwithstanding
it’s finally clear where North is)
by the estuary
a bell rings and the road rises
centerline pointing at the clouds
*
one bridge lifts away cleanly
and the next has already stopped the cars
for “Paycheck” which pulls
a wake of corrugated waves
I would not choose a ship so tall
as to intrude on bridges
but a dinghy like that one
bearded man, hand on noisy outboard
taking his Irish Setter for a water ride
centerline pointing at the clouds
*
one bridge lifts away cleanly
and the next has already stopped the cars
for “Paycheck” which pulls
a wake of corrugated waves
I would not choose a ship so tall
as to intrude on bridges
but a dinghy like that one
bearded man, hand on noisy outboard
taking his Irish Setter for a water ride
downturn
the people said it is enough
it is more than enough
and went back
to their smaller houses
the trees went back
to their old roots
it is more than enough
and went back
to their smaller houses
the trees went back
to their old roots
Friday, August 29, 2008
Tuesday, August 5, 2008
on the interstate
truck and trailer of hay going north
meets truck and trailer of hay going south
is there no way to coordinate this?
meets truck and trailer of hay going south
is there no way to coordinate this?
re: fires
California, in summer blonde
fair hair of sun-bleached hills
When living in a straw barn
be careful with the lantern...
fair hair of sun-bleached hills
When living in a straw barn
be careful with the lantern...
tiniest birds–answering bits of intent
The same flock through here, daily
tumbling through bushes
over and under, same size as the leaves
One bush tit separates, detours to the window
tries to grab the fly on the inside of the pane
tumbling through bushes
over and under, same size as the leaves
One bush tit separates, detours to the window
tries to grab the fly on the inside of the pane
Saturday, August 2, 2008
Sundial Bridge in Redding
who dared write this green glass crossing
ribbed timepiece, musical instrument
strings tuned for plucking
this too white sail
alarmingly high fin
and not a word of it can be changed later?
http://www.viamagazine.com/top_stories/articles/Redding04.asp
ribbed timepiece, musical instrument
strings tuned for plucking
this too white sail
alarmingly high fin
and not a word of it can be changed later?
http://www.viamagazine.com/top_stories/articles/Redding04.asp
Friday, July 25, 2008
Friday, July 18, 2008
more words about the Calatrava bridge in Redding
There is no reason to cross the river but for the bridge
I want to emphasize
how much the bridge cares about you, personally
The bridge has eyes for no one but you
Even now I am yearning for the bridge
(“the capacity of things to be close to us”)
I want to emphasize
how much the bridge cares about you, personally
The bridge has eyes for no one but you
Even now I am yearning for the bridge
(“the capacity of things to be close to us”)
gardening at this age
plants, at least, stay where you put them
the only thing I can still dominate
words are impossible, slippery, mistaken
reverse themselves to their opposite meaning
(presented playfully, they
become ominous, take on a sinister tone)
I never have to apologize for my peas
the only thing I can still dominate
words are impossible, slippery, mistaken
reverse themselves to their opposite meaning
(presented playfully, they
become ominous, take on a sinister tone)
I never have to apologize for my peas
Thursday, July 17, 2008
sunbrowned and hatted
even when everyone comes here
it’s still you alone in the wilderness
carrying your weight in sun and wind burn
up against gravity, down over rock and root
you against thirst, hunger, weariness
the interminable daily needs and toiletries
it’s still you alone in the wilderness
carrying your weight in sun and wind burn
up against gravity, down over rock and root
you against thirst, hunger, weariness
the interminable daily needs and toiletries
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
turning in for the night
after driving all day
the motel is just a giant stationary camper
which periodically gives a silent lurch
sit on the bench by the open door
cool wind playing in the leaves
cracked lips, sunburned face
same crackling fires overhead
stars, none missing
same sickle, upright over the trees
after driving all day
the motel is just a giant stationary camper
which periodically gives a silent lurch
sit on the bench by the open door
cool wind playing in the leaves
cracked lips, sunburned face
same crackling fires overhead
stars, none missing
same sickle, upright over the trees
you know the mountains
I don’t have to tell you
no cell phone reception,
even from the highest overlook
parades of granite crowns
stacks of weathered granite, pitted, cracked
inclines of scuffed white granite
lichen blackened granite
sparkle of broken granite
pine needles crunchy underfoot
and now the wind, like a waterfall
in the ponderosa pine with the plated orange trunk
then, all the ponderosa pines
along the asphalt trail,
memorial plaques mounted on a rusting pipe
here the emigrants passed by
here the Indians had to be destroyed
silence of the white dam holding back the sky
I don’t have to tell you
no cell phone reception,
even from the highest overlook
parades of granite crowns
stacks of weathered granite, pitted, cracked
inclines of scuffed white granite
lichen blackened granite
sparkle of broken granite
pine needles crunchy underfoot
and now the wind, like a waterfall
in the ponderosa pine with the plated orange trunk
then, all the ponderosa pines
along the asphalt trail,
memorial plaques mounted on a rusting pipe
here the emigrants passed by
here the Indians had to be destroyed
silence of the white dam holding back the sky
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
Sunday, July 13, 2008
dreaming past the alarm
a sea of glass statues
where the getting out of bed should be
she stops to examine them--
late to work again
where the getting out of bed should be
she stops to examine them--
late to work again
Saturday, July 12, 2008
it's a gravel road
on the way to the lake
within sight of the cold blue water
bushes pale under the load of dust
tree roots grasp the waning embankments
within sight of the cold blue water
bushes pale under the load of dust
tree roots grasp the waning embankments
Friday, July 11, 2008
windy today
the wind arriving from far
on the way to a destination that
varies from moment to moment
wants nothing from us
I have opened the doors and windows
for it to blow through the house
on the way to a destination that
varies from moment to moment
wants nothing from us
I have opened the doors and windows
for it to blow through the house
Thursday, July 10, 2008
visit to Georgetown
when the light lets go
of the high places
the clouds turn golden faces to the sun
under the low bridge
the river rushes away from me
but I'm in no hurry at all
and stay till the world fades to grey
I walk back in the black
with a turquoise sky to guide me
in puddles by the road
of the high places
the clouds turn golden faces to the sun
under the low bridge
the river rushes away from me
but I'm in no hurry at all
and stay till the world fades to grey
I walk back in the black
with a turquoise sky to guide me
in puddles by the road
breakfast at McDonalds
everyone just pretends
the food is real
finish your fries, dear
or it's no mcmuffin for you
the food is real
finish your fries, dear
or it's no mcmuffin for you
up
against gravity
the fight is up
a grove of douglas firs, up
birds up, jubilantly
up, the mountains launch your eyes
the fight is up
a grove of douglas firs, up
birds up, jubilantly
up, the mountains launch your eyes
Tuesday, July 8, 2008
near Dunsmuir
soft hills lounging
against starched peaks
forests stuffed with trees
faint birds live here, and bears in fur
and glimmering fish in choppy lakes
and the lonely osprey in is nest
atop the tallest tree
against starched peaks
forests stuffed with trees
faint birds live here, and bears in fur
and glimmering fish in choppy lakes
and the lonely osprey in is nest
atop the tallest tree
Monday, July 7, 2008
sugar pine
there are no greater honors
than to stand on the rim of the day
arms stretched out to the air
hands dripping cones
than to stand on the rim of the day
arms stretched out to the air
hands dripping cones
Saturday, July 5, 2008
riveries
-framed
a photograph is barely a reminder
the sun does not touch your face
you and the river are not breathing
the same air
and you’ll never know
what the photographer left out
whether she stepped in from silence
and miles of valley or the sound
of a leaf blower from the million dollar
house up on the hill
wood smoke, incense of a cedar?
or smell of sewage, rotten apples
fishermen stabbing the river with their poles
*
(flows from a topknot
a cloud, the connecting ice, a dam
flows from a pipeline, broken egg, a womb)
not just another one of your clean, unencumbered designs
but upwellings, backwashes, crinkles, folds
intricacies and lusters
saltation and exultation
all shine and dread at times, shifting greens
today the Sacramento is open, carefree, with a sound
of children scuffing through the autumn leaves
*
--just a way for the water to get down
forest-green, mint and white
the river, patterned runner
a coming together
waters poured into waters
intertwining flows
it’s a braided river-rope
a roar in place,
freight train shrieking by out of tune
American dipper beneath the railroad bridges
chubby, blinking a white eye
*
--cottonwoods by the river
always a hint of darkness to the leaves
as if keeping tragedy in view
through sunlight and eclipse
nothing carried to excess or ecstasy
a periodic cotton elation
*
listen carefully, he said
a rhythm has to beat somewhere in the music
but the water
overflows the pool and falls
divided, overflows the stone
clearly in small arcs
falls white in foam
one continuous exhalation
*
--hearing things
Though alone, I hear
my husband’s voice
say my name by the waterfall
and look to where my son is safe
down among the cliffs and rocks
“between insane and wise
there is no double yellow line?”
*
--Mossbrae
where white curtains empty themselves
on the rocks in a white splash shadow
a dipper’s hunched on white legs
whistle tuned
for strident battle with the water
*
--autumn
cream with pink edges
the failing porcelain
of a rose
opulent dahlias
staked in strict rows
wood smoke
rotting apples and
incense from a cedar
heavy as iron, the river
sliding its hardware beneath the bridge
dark conveyor belt, ferrying
the cottonwoods’ leaves
big, yellow, generous hearts
*
--spring transport
to the McCloud river, early
sinking over the boot tops into snow--
dark Cadillac of the water, opulent
black rose over the falls
*
--Landmark
always the smell of sewage by the river
the Sacramento flows over its stones
like a yellow bottle
the alder
trailing a hand in the water
sitting in its shade
feel the tributaries of air
seen through the foliage
an entering creek--
falling water, relentlessly down
the cliff--
stone down to the road
an apple, red-cheeked on one side
bobs and whirls, leisurely at first
sudden acceleration through
the eddies, a fast ride away
*
the Sacramento in dips and standing waves
following a watercourse
the river constantly leaves itself behind at the banks
gets lost in the white stones
*
--High flows
Gray-green, business efficient
Trucking the rainstorm back to sea
--Higher
Around the curves they bend as one
Tossing white horns--the waves
*
inexperienced in rivers
and noticing the white streamers
I used to think the water was flowing in the other
direction
charging up, I suppose,
the staircase of rolled river stones
up through Dunsmuir alongside the track
past the loop, hissing up
between the bookcases
of the green-gray cliffs
through the turbine
back behind the dam
Lake Siskiyou overflowing
into the mountains
*
all the preparation: nurturing, upbringing, schooling
and then I didn’t become anything
painstaking placement
on a journey without destination
(study for the other world?)
(long preparation for fading away?)
burned to a white ash, my hair
my skin sizzles when you touch it (and then so cold)
my life, lately, has been a returning
back to first things
which are also last things—
sunlight on the steps
(stabs of joy in the belly)
backwards river
It’s been a long preparation for the return
a photograph is barely a reminder
the sun does not touch your face
you and the river are not breathing
the same air
and you’ll never know
what the photographer left out
whether she stepped in from silence
and miles of valley or the sound
of a leaf blower from the million dollar
house up on the hill
wood smoke, incense of a cedar?
or smell of sewage, rotten apples
fishermen stabbing the river with their poles
*
(flows from a topknot
a cloud, the connecting ice, a dam
flows from a pipeline, broken egg, a womb)
not just another one of your clean, unencumbered designs
but upwellings, backwashes, crinkles, folds
intricacies and lusters
saltation and exultation
all shine and dread at times, shifting greens
today the Sacramento is open, carefree, with a sound
of children scuffing through the autumn leaves
*
--just a way for the water to get down
forest-green, mint and white
the river, patterned runner
a coming together
waters poured into waters
intertwining flows
it’s a braided river-rope
a roar in place,
freight train shrieking by out of tune
American dipper beneath the railroad bridges
chubby, blinking a white eye
*
--cottonwoods by the river
always a hint of darkness to the leaves
as if keeping tragedy in view
through sunlight and eclipse
nothing carried to excess or ecstasy
a periodic cotton elation
*
listen carefully, he said
a rhythm has to beat somewhere in the music
but the water
overflows the pool and falls
divided, overflows the stone
clearly in small arcs
falls white in foam
one continuous exhalation
*
--hearing things
Though alone, I hear
my husband’s voice
say my name by the waterfall
and look to where my son is safe
down among the cliffs and rocks
“between insane and wise
there is no double yellow line?”
*
--Mossbrae
where white curtains empty themselves
on the rocks in a white splash shadow
a dipper’s hunched on white legs
whistle tuned
for strident battle with the water
*
--autumn
cream with pink edges
the failing porcelain
of a rose
opulent dahlias
staked in strict rows
wood smoke
rotting apples and
incense from a cedar
heavy as iron, the river
sliding its hardware beneath the bridge
dark conveyor belt, ferrying
the cottonwoods’ leaves
big, yellow, generous hearts
*
--spring transport
to the McCloud river, early
sinking over the boot tops into snow--
dark Cadillac of the water, opulent
black rose over the falls
*
--Landmark
always the smell of sewage by the river
the Sacramento flows over its stones
like a yellow bottle
the alder
trailing a hand in the water
sitting in its shade
feel the tributaries of air
seen through the foliage
an entering creek--
falling water, relentlessly down
the cliff--
stone down to the road
an apple, red-cheeked on one side
bobs and whirls, leisurely at first
sudden acceleration through
the eddies, a fast ride away
*
the Sacramento in dips and standing waves
following a watercourse
the river constantly leaves itself behind at the banks
gets lost in the white stones
*
--High flows
Gray-green, business efficient
Trucking the rainstorm back to sea
--Higher
Around the curves they bend as one
Tossing white horns--the waves
*
inexperienced in rivers
and noticing the white streamers
I used to think the water was flowing in the other
direction
charging up, I suppose,
the staircase of rolled river stones
up through Dunsmuir alongside the track
past the loop, hissing up
between the bookcases
of the green-gray cliffs
through the turbine
back behind the dam
Lake Siskiyou overflowing
into the mountains
*
all the preparation: nurturing, upbringing, schooling
and then I didn’t become anything
painstaking placement
on a journey without destination
(study for the other world?)
(long preparation for fading away?)
burned to a white ash, my hair
my skin sizzles when you touch it (and then so cold)
my life, lately, has been a returning
back to first things
which are also last things—
sunlight on the steps
(stabs of joy in the belly)
backwards river
It’s been a long preparation for the return
Thursday, June 26, 2008
renegotiated
the gold grows thinner
wears off the finger
the finger shrinks or expands
it is good to wear several rings
over a lifetime
that we found each other, spoke our vow
is not why we’re together now
wears off the finger
the finger shrinks or expands
it is good to wear several rings
over a lifetime
that we found each other, spoke our vow
is not why we’re together now
no mourning doves in Dunsmuir
Steller’s jays waving their black steeples
I cast my mind back, walk through the house
open the drawers, hunt through the cupboards
upstairs, down, look out through the windows
the mountain, still there
I’ve already lost too many homes
I’m keeping this one
(I don’t miss the black widow spiders)
Steller’s jays waving their black steeples
I cast my mind back, walk through the house
open the drawers, hunt through the cupboards
upstairs, down, look out through the windows
the mountain, still there
I’ve already lost too many homes
I’m keeping this one
(I don’t miss the black widow spiders)
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
Fire Summer 2002
“there are many things that I did wrong
I know that now
but reality should share the blame
it too has changed”
my mother and I
throw open the doors of the house
still hot from the previous
day’s sun manufacture
to the cooler morning air
reeking of campfires
from forests burning all over Oregon
smoke swings the chime
gap and a shadow where the mountain
formerly rose,
the grays of the air arranged
in order of distance flat against the ridges
our peaches are going to taste of smoke this year
we are trying to get used to it
and the truth for which
we have been preparing the children
is even now preparing to shift
I know that now
but reality should share the blame
it too has changed”
my mother and I
throw open the doors of the house
still hot from the previous
day’s sun manufacture
to the cooler morning air
reeking of campfires
from forests burning all over Oregon
smoke swings the chime
gap and a shadow where the mountain
formerly rose,
the grays of the air arranged
in order of distance flat against the ridges
our peaches are going to taste of smoke this year
we are trying to get used to it
and the truth for which
we have been preparing the children
is even now preparing to shift
Monday, June 23, 2008
river rocks
for months I bring home the same stones
moss-green packages, wrapped in white string
serpentinite sunk in ocean shadow
licorice-on-the-tongue
smile a black smile for me
moss-green packages, wrapped in white string
serpentinite sunk in ocean shadow
licorice-on-the-tongue
smile a black smile for me
unfinished, unpolished, but posted anyway
If you ignore the signs
part the red switches
force the grey branches of the willow
with your weight
take the short leap over running water
to a bank of stones
and stay there long enough
looking down, inside the sounds
of water which change reality
the hunched stones may open up to you
bloom like flowers
among the sunning spiders
in pinks, greens, midnight blues
yellow, orange into rust
subdued fires in
kidney shapes, lozenges
triangles, balls
silver-veined
white-banded
kitchen flooring, patterned stone
alive with crystals or
moss-green packages tied with string
midnight black
with star sprinkles, embedded crystal
may even find one remarkable enough to add
to the display of heart shaped stones
placed by students beside the teacher’s door
part the red switches
force the grey branches of the willow
with your weight
take the short leap over running water
to a bank of stones
and stay there long enough
looking down, inside the sounds
of water which change reality
the hunched stones may open up to you
bloom like flowers
among the sunning spiders
in pinks, greens, midnight blues
yellow, orange into rust
subdued fires in
kidney shapes, lozenges
triangles, balls
silver-veined
white-banded
kitchen flooring, patterned stone
alive with crystals or
moss-green packages tied with string
midnight black
with star sprinkles, embedded crystal
may even find one remarkable enough to add
to the display of heart shaped stones
placed by students beside the teacher’s door
walking past
bad timing, lack of experience
beside the river, in the road
wind ruffling clean luxurious fur
too bad about the shining almond eyes
beside the river, in the road
wind ruffling clean luxurious fur
too bad about the shining almond eyes
Sunday, June 22, 2008
difference
Whatever I said
Don’t hold me to it
It’s a village goat I sent packing
She packs hers, mud and water into forms
For desert fortification
Don’t hold me to it
It’s a village goat I sent packing
She packs hers, mud and water into forms
For desert fortification
Friday, June 20, 2008
self discipline
for you, no leeway, no evasions
you will go there, giving no sign
though the heat rises into your eyes
and the heart taps out
a rapid fear
you will go there, giving no sign
though the heat rises into your eyes
and the heart taps out
a rapid fear
Reading the news each morning
Many heroes in the fight
Belief against belief
The hospitals stand by with facts
(and the ground is opened up in grief
for those ostensibly persuaded)
Belief against belief
The hospitals stand by with facts
(and the ground is opened up in grief
for those ostensibly persuaded)
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