Sunday, January 26, 2014

Done gone and recited another poem

In the company of musicians and writers, I had another chance to say a few words again...

Deep and Clear

A year of water
is hidden from even the thirstiest of dry-nosed dogs,
expanding new flowers and old ideas with
long sheltered January dreams.
It often happens in this season that we are caught moving against the wind
in the sky,
ignorant of waves and clouds like field furrows,
bearing outcome, hidden like the vivid thoughts of new babes.
But a thirsty lot are we, overturning in blind flight
all that is rooted
and only small, fleeting things remain to grow.

It is a culture displaced and reconstituted
to see our old, familiar dogs as they are;
a reflection of all dreams,
with greyed muzzle, drooping tail
and closing those moist, bright eyes with a last rearward glance before the fire
as it wanes with night’s regress.
All sleep, and those dreams rekindled dash on
like puppies and children in warm thickets by streams and washes
each awash in pleasure well-earned
despite never having learned how to dream
or find play or water
on the culture’s endless roads of stone.

Along and in the end,
Having created, announced and anointed that singular fear
in the handful of dust,
and having seen the sapling of that soil sprout and
remember the streamside dreams
and much-loved ancient dogs-
all small, fleeting fears will wilt
and the dust blow toward dunes away in the east,
against the wind
and despite those waves
generations of dreamers will rise
and drink clear, deep water.

Newcastle Clone Brew

Yesterday, I sprinted up to visit Kaysville and the surrounding area to brew ten gallons of magic at Ryan's.  Shared mirth and the usual boilovers on my part made the situation more than familiar, and the outcome looks to be right on, despite my rookie mistakes and wandering attention.
I'll let you know what happens....

Sunday, January 12, 2014

First month

 ...the first shall be last and the last shall be first. That's what some rebellious semite said as he railed quite carefully against the Roman Machine.
Here's our little swan song, as he grew in his first month or so,  and as I look at him as a mirror of myself, I hope I go down nearly as gracefully as he's coming up.