Numb miles in the cold wind
to then rest in the rain shadow.
There is snow on the range, yet
I'm back to lay~ watching.
A frost casts over;
although the forest shelters
teeming the hillside,
it seems not enough.
Staring from below
I hold the peak.
Swirling, disappearing wind;
sage-covered brush hills
blanket the cold desert sand.
More blistering rust
creeping on the Bristlecone;
climbing crests of soil
while a big root feeds its spine.
If I cannot be heard,
I needn’t have time to break tread.
Miles overnight with my eye on tree lines.
The climate vaults in frozen time,
for the distant range still feels near.
After 'while, comes the dawn.
The road ends paved, and I
get to hear them whisper.
Silvery, quiet tones.
My blistered grip molts
the frozen steering wheel,
leaving cold tracks behind.
There is snow on the range.
While I return back to lay, still dressed in frost;
casting memories out, onto the rain shadow ~
protected by its windward hills.
What we say
we write, we worry
for they show
signs in yellow
whatever the word
it leads to another
down long narrow hallways
resembling each other
foul stench, fluid-
in a puddle
on the same floor
the quiet defeat
at peace, forgetting
forgiveness is asleep
on one’s own feet-
all the same
July 30 2019
Summer Camp Journal:
Im not goeng to camp tomroe. My mom saed I hav to. I amto scared that the old kids will do the camp skit agaen. When I sat down to watsh it I dident no it would be like that. Bobby saed it wasent scary but it was. Our camp cownselr made us sit up front. Then they saed ACTION and that is where it went bad. Lily Hillmyer triped and fell. She hurt her tooth or somthin. Her fake mom had to take her to the doctrs. And it was a DENTIST!! They waeted in the waeting room and herd someone screeming! And they dident leaf! I would have leaft! Then the nurse saed the doctor will see you and Lily Hillmyer got up and went into the room. It was just a chare so she cood sit down but it was scary. The doctor saed let me see your tooth and she opned her mowth. Then he lookd in her ear! HER EAR! My camp fwends thout that was funy but I dident get it. So then the doctor saed to his assistant looks like we need to give her a trim and Lily Hillmyer says trim WHAT becaws that sownded crazey! Then I saw the doctr take owt a GIGANTIC scizsor! And he cut her hare! Her hare?! Why? What was goeng on I dont no but I started to get unconfortbl. I aksed the cownnselr to moove back but she saed no. But I moved a little back and bumpd into Bobby and he made fun of me. He’s meen. Then Lily Hillmyer said my tooth my tooth ow it hurts! And the doctor said ok it’s time and took out a big NEEDLE! I meen BIG. So big it was tawlr then him! Everyone lafed by I skreemed! Then everyone lafed agaen but at me. They are all meen. Like I saed Im not goeng bak. The doctor then poold her tooth out and there was fake blood that sgwerted everywhere! It made me feel bad! So I closed my eyes but Bobby made me put them down beecaws he coodnt see behind me with my arms like that. So I sgwinted insted. Then the doctor said Lily Hillmyer could giv it to the tooth faery. Looking like that?! It was gross. Now im scared to loos my tooth that’s loose too. Bobby saed the tooth faery isnt reel but my brothr lost his tooth last yeer and SOMEONE took it so if the tooth faery isnt reel who takes it ?! Maebe this DENTIST! No way, Im not goeng to let my teeth fall out and im not goeng to camp tomroe evn if my mom says I hav to. Today was horibl.
Together, the meal arrived
accompanied by a carafe
coated with a dusty, bold cabernet.
I cross my legs,
pulling in closer to the table ~ expectantly.
Leaning over to pour a glass
my arm grazes over the truffle croquettes,
feeling warm steam on my skin;
I catch sight of droplets
condensing on my inner wrist.
My appetite turns direction,
a sudden pause
to grab one.
The delicate potato touches my plate,
I look over the white clothed table.
Our palates elaborate, tasting
poulet de Bresse soaked in buttermilk
with a hint of chamomile~ braised,
poached, then browned; topped
with tender roasted sunchokes.
A bone-in ribeye pairs nicely
in a red wine reduction, lined with
rich, fine marbling cooked into the steak.
A Savory side-dish of prepared vegetables
spooned out with piquant roasted chickpeas,
and balsamic beets~ all along to graze
on a Tuscan herbed dipping oil,
balanced bites of marinated cerignola olives, deliciously served warm
with a crusted kalamata bread.
A lovely moment in time, to hold onto.
The flavors I wish I could taste, forever.
A steelheads journey
Between freshwater pebbles, they nestled. Until the unique migration towards sea, called them to change.
a Mothers plea
In the shivering light of the Red Giant
the Weymouth’s Pine stoops dimly,
casting a pale shadow from the West.
Through many strains, a crumbled,
calcified pile reaches the ground cover.
Colorless heaps catch a breeze,
turning to the wood. I feel your presence
fueling the gentle wisps around me;
igniting through, to a resentful gust of wind.
Over what’s left, I sit.
Coming up from the loose grains remained,
I feel you calling my name.
It is a voice much older and it whispers,
ascending a request.
“Time has ground me
against these wooden grains
as I lay here in this Pine drape.
Remanence of blood
plunged through my flesh,
escaping my mourning veins
every time I tried to come to you;
seeping and seeking refuge,
leaving me desolate
with only fear to cling onto.”
“I tried one summer in the searing heat,
to taste the sweat the wood sap bled.
Out from the deep, in these expanding staves;
to be born again of the White pine’s sugar.”
“But God stopped the Sun
and Satan turned it red.
Laying my tree low, to litter the soil.
With a broken soul’s purpose,
my spirit roared! Rising
to clang on heaven’s gates. Yet,
your heart had passed on me.”
“I tried to come to you
through thin cracks~ where the wind tapped.
Within drops of rain,
feeding the garden beds of potato and beans.
So that you could forage in Spring;
but all the glamor of it’s fruits washed away~
clawing outside the plots, every day you came.”
Turn this soil- take this seed.
Let the last bit of me touch your skin.
With a voice fueled only by the
thick high-flown sky, I ask for forgiveness ?
Let my plea nest in your mind,
to set you free; in your ears -
to chime and wake your heart.”
“You see, I’m in the space between~
waiting to come to rest in your peace.
To dwell forever, together.
And as you live on, I can give beat
to your heart once more ....
like when I first became your mother.”
Call off this day.
For now, are the settling sounds of the rain.
It drums the rivers ice in a susurrus echo.
Being heard over my movements, as I rest.
Along the bark of this tree,
on cold still rocks I sit ....
watching the tangled leaves.
There, frozen in place
are the grounded roots.
Pulled away now in melts and weeps;
once laid and glazed in ice.
Uncovered at the start of winter’s end.
For out of the whispering woods-
a hunted hoof still warm.
A sparrow-hawk preening.
It’s plumage stained.
With eyes of pale lemon-yellow,
then sudden hints of red,
fresh off a finch roost taste.
I look up to see the fish-wire crossed,
mid-cast, the fisherman’s reel
calls to man’s best friend by the rivers edge.
While approaching slowly,
harsh chills of a billowing overcast.
It chooses to dance; swirling~
challenging the sunsets bend.
A journey through ravines,
pulse the water. Diverging spills-
side by side, as vital forces.
In a moment,
the day turns toward night.
The towers light with howling wind.
Edging decay purls-
pulling together, outward,
over the water and into the fog.
In the dark, we take our canoe up the river.
Out of these wet, hard-wearing clothes, we rest.
~ Jessi (poem)
a pictured goodbye
Since your regress, all that was~ evaporated.
No more revelry to be heard;
replaced, by constants of you.
I can only pretend.
I cannot remember
My hunger grows
for the farmer’s bread.
I dreamt last night,
that the scent still lingered
at the ford, off the river
in the air, blown by the old stone-
it was rising, out into the countryside.
Further I reached,
towards the lost cities,
abided, yet hidden in structure.
I envisaged just saluting monuments,
though I sense their essence remained.
Yet, the smell of the dust
is what settles into my slumber.
The grime of war and smudge
only rinses some, when it rains.
And I am old.
I am used to the decay; the scent,
cloying at my nostrils.
I am as old as the hills that they rose from.
Plainly, I can still taste the sediment,
of my own countries crust.
A calcareous soil,
too dried up to grow its own fruits.
For the wept trails at its coastline,
have been brined and elderly for some time.
Soaked into that erosion
I became aware of the waves,
who mislay their energy;
the changing winds,
leaving behind only caves,
upon notches, upon cliffs.
Exposing stone shapes- jagged,
along the waters edge, that have
been long rinsed clean from
the screeches of the sea clawing gulls,
harrowed in contention,
for sights on the last meal.
My impetus draws distant memories ....
reminiscing of shorelines,
so striking- a presence, so youthful.
So, let me die here.
Let me rest forever, in this slumber
as I remember,
and lay on hills, of others land.
Let me rest my eyes, on sights
that could have been mine.
Feed me your bread, from the farmer’s field.
Cover me, in your coat of arms.
Protect me, amongst these luscious fir trees;
before the charge of my castle walls,
before it all comes crashing down,
when I wake.
A Village Cry
.... still, hearing you
calling my name;
crawling, to claim~
on our clearing
upon thy Flower Hill.