Up to the Cabin

 Glad we were able button up the old cabin. The kids are sure enjoying it.

Two Roads Diverge

Been a spectacular fall. This is a poplar up the way from the house just below where the junipers begin, one of my barometers of when the spring and fall begin and wane; winter's almost here...

YellowTrip: Fall 2012

An Accounting of Progress

I

Orb of night

oculus illumined from leagues distant

shying toward the west, giving shape to dark clouds

invisible without though not within-

pinpoint of yellow, Mars as life-light on the lens,

when there are no stars visible

Phobos-doomed.

II

When it began, only the faintest of sounds

emaated from his mind

Here is the rationale:

Shape and form changed-

not as with scissors, knife or hammer

but with time and derision,

as when rain falls from a cloud

the ground changes, and a small area takes an

ancient decision.

Moisture penetrates, soil swells, and bodies

(both plant and animal) move,

so that over time these changes shout and attract attention

of some sentient beings-

but perception is slow to give attention to

such things as change progresses...

III

When the cap is replaced

it protects the point of the pen, and

if what you crave is protection

angels will come

with flaming swords and the eternal

sanction of an omnipotent God-

(that is what, at least, is gleaned from holy books)

and if your faith is full,

you can hope for a long flowing robe

like those worn by street-corner lunatics

powerful polygamists,

and everyday businesspeople behind thick walls-

each after his own kind and

each knowing only his own mind.

Music played in doleful tones and

the juicy seed of pomegranate;

is our only reward for now,

I seek a benediction on our sheer bandages

covering our scrapes and

minor lacerations.

those will do to prop up a stooped back,

or bowed neck

and dry the tears of those who need more

than the hoped for veil will let

slip past

slip past

slip past

to know that they are God.

IV

So, having passed already

too near the sun,

the memory of that brief moment creates

a heady sensation of both vestal

and sacred nectar-

winter is at the door and our hopes and faith, deferred,

have flown to more comfortable climes,

leaving us to our work and watch.

The air we breathe will give account

of its use, benefit and march…

End of the Summer Trip to the Reef

Novus Ordo Incendium

I dream a dream-

It has been said.

The dog alongside wakes suddenly at this very moment,

and the next, springs forth to search out her mate-

she has forgotten her master altogether.

The midnight sun catches in our throats

like so much desert dust.

Yellowed paper and tattered plastic ware from the glove box will do,

So hungry so hungered so very hungry;

Nous sommes Americanes-

And despite or because of this,

A thirsty lot we have become; overturning all that is rooted,

a search for seeing goes on.

A remembrance:

Traces of the dream expand forever, as only small, overturned things can grow,

reusing their own past

insomuch that the dream takes a new body, having grown a new soul,

fed upon the desert soil, a sated lot we become,

because of or despite all of this.

And as each wanders purposefully toward reconciliation,

the past tense of the subjunctive hanging

on every word,

our searching walk daily reveals memory

passing orange groves and nutmeg trees

with their fruits and seeds orange, creamy white ,and scarlet-

the pattering music of patio breakfasts drifting like cirrus over cedar fences,

as only a little, dewey rain upon the grass  

remains from the night before.

Another Pome Read for a Gathering...

A quaint remembrance, or ‘In Remembrance’

It will become the damndest thing;

a seeing sending unit around each corner, tethered to

armored ships at sea, though rumored to be

steaming fast as reality

into the face of a minor objection-

Spending and spelling, buying, then selling;

we’ve a favorite habit known to all,

and each with its own foxhole reverie.

The backlit brightness of a foot soldier’s vivid memories,

caught between the thorny teeth of all the

machines, essence extracted and

left on the back doorstep with a stray cat’s shattered mice in hope

that the God within will smile and pause,

only for a patchwork-moment before going onto the day’s material hymns

and the night’s totemic, rightful dreams.

Hey- it’s not selfish, it’s what we've collected

beneath these very stars;

lidded with mists or pricked through

in Your service;

greeting the lonely or saluting the wicked

at infrequent prayer.

Regardless, in battle, the night can last forever.

Passing through at a pace familiar only to biology

in your wild places and in my heart,

each toils feebly for a national ideal,

and the impossible is inevitably, metacognitively worshipped .

Indeed, as both the brazen and weary pass from this

world in violence or in some similar peace,

It is only the rest who can keep their dreams aflame.