like a backwards tsunami

they say there’s only
one year of water left
in california baigz says
while we weed/prepare
beds for future onions
_______

piling and pulling
carts of pummies
as the day warms
the work and weather
bring enough heat that
i shed four top layers
in an hour
_______

green-white swirl playground ball
stuffed into screen hole turned
cat door on front porch

_______

a line of loaves (sourdough)
rising on oven-top as
last summer’s snow peas
sizzle in wok
_______

what kind of dinosaur
do you think it is
emory asks about his
hatching egg in
silver bowl full of water
i don’t know i say a brontosaur
_______

looks like waves i say
of the swaths of white
arc-ing across sky
while em and i
stop-sign wait
at the convergence of
gravel and pavement
like a bakwards tsunami he says
proving my point that
most kids are the raddest poets
_______

our shadows lengthening
in almost-sunset orange
casting its color on white rock road
as we wheel east
_______
little cute food alline calls it
while scooping cooked potato
out of its purple sometimes red skin
lavish gifts she says because she
means it but also because she
likes the way it sounds we laugh
so do i
_______

hallelujah tentative sing along
swells with each chorusing
how i harmonize
our vibratos like velcro
_______

tyler with handbrooms tapping
on snare (and other drum whose
name i don’t know)
_______
emory half-wrapped in
sleeping bag in truck bed
where we squeeze into
the best spot (against the cab)
and hum under moonglow
and starstruck sky
moving through lilty air
of spring lightness
_______
from the water world:
E1512696-0B8F-470A-B0D4-F4CA6C4AB1DA_w974_n_s
A man being pulled out of the water, during floods in Srinagar, Indian-controlled Kashmir. – voice of america, day in photos

Leave a comment

Filed under daily practice, poems, poetry, writing

home i never

you’re the home i
never had she says
improv style while
heading west through
green-splosion desert
_______

wild turkey ambling
across county highway M
in front of us while
another nestles in a
not-yet-tilled field
to our left
_______

we start light
squeezing color from tube
and incorporating hues with ink knives

on plexiglass / glass
then rolling on brayers til tack-less
before shifting to darker shades
while the prints exponentially bloom before us
(mica, trish, june)
while they dry
_______

a simultaneous eyebrow raise and nod
between trish and i
wordless approval of roasted red pepper hummus
_______
on our way out i
position myself strategically
behind the pillar so i can
nab a butter cookie with
musical-note icing
without being seen
_______
trish and baigz checking out
the drying-print display
cheer me in my
unicorn vs. robot dinosaur leggings on
in upstairs karma during jillian’s
standing mountain climbers
_______

mid-abs i get the giggles
it [laughing] makes it [crunches] hardertrish calls out from her
office corner
a request for me to stop
but i can’t
_______

snapshot she says of LA-arriving:
green mowhawk arm around
girl he’s shorter than and she
wears bondage gear over
her clothes
plus an observation of
the in-ness of camo
_______

walking through living room where
tyler’s on snare drum and shaker
sarah’s on finger piano and
liam’s on guitar and voice
(post-dinner, post-blueberry cake, post-crokonole)
out front door into moonspill
where spring peeper chorus
(with chorus frogs on backup)
rises in waves around

_______

from the water world:

4D23AB8B-3F88-4236-A102-46A62B2F3002_w974_n_s
A woman jumps into an icy water tank during the Tough Mudder 10-12-mile obstacle challenge in San Bernardino, California, USA. – voice of america, day in photos

 

Leave a comment

Filed under daily practice, poems, poetry, writing

sometimes she dangles

the purging of mind-songs
when they aren’t played to satiate
in this case it’s
the first few lines from rasputina’s
holocaust of giants

_______
the disassembling of
newspaper-shred mouse net
burrowed in greenhouse garden bed

_______

the word arroyo
in blue print on white
and the unexpectedness
of its appearence here
(never met word like this
imbued with such a placeness)

little punch of homesick
for a place i mostly passed through

_______

the back-and-forth hand saw
rhythm, teeth grabbing hold
sawdust lifted away with wind
_______

that’s a frankie-size wine glass
mica says of the shot glass

filled with the maroon of malbec
on the kitchen table

_______

o.p.p : other people’s perfume
the scent of which smacks
upon entering rink
_______
best pair of pants
in the world
snack
says rink-side
that’s what i thought too
i respond regarding
unicorn vs. robot dinosuar leggings
_______

althea’s small hand in mine
as we roll our way along
the edges of the rink
how sometimes she dangles there
but isn’t heavy enough
to pull me down with her
_______

like katy perry
a few of the teenage girls

tell me
just like hollywood (joking)
_______

your tails were really flying
emory reports from the back seat
to trish regarding her tux top on wheels (skates)
_______

heading home from kahoka
clearsky bright constellations
i can point out venus and
orions belt but i need your help
pinpointing the birthplace of stars
_______

spring has sproinged i say
while the brights shine
our way home
across one way bridges and
around 40mph county highway curves
_______
kitten-spotting near the abandoned barn
at the top of the gravel drive
(white/light-bodied and
dark tailed)
fostering perhaps or
in the course of brenda’s re-wilding
she’s unfixed herself

Leave a comment

Filed under daily practice, poems, poetry, writing

how the silence sings

challah if you hear me
in black ink at the top of
the challah recipe
whose dough joseph and i
braid at the butcher block
_______
potting up spider plants
(siblings to a taos-dwelling
rooted leafing)
_______

bike grease plus soil
dirt layers on hands/fingers
_______

you’ve got pirate hair joe says
in the driver’s seat
about what trish noted earlier
as an official mullet
in the hoop house

_______
shapes of people moving
beyond porch-turned-greenhouse plastic
hung on 2×4’s while we dine
at gigi’s
_______

emory in the seat next to me
humming along to the notes
of the pink panther song
as they’re piano=played
between scenes
_______

i’m probably not supposed to say
this i tell renay standing in the sortof
receiving line in front of the stage
but you were my favorite
_______

the last digital display
you’re going to see in
24 hours i joke about
the bank time/temp sign as we
drive out of town and how
we laugh when trish
points out the nest temp/time display
just down the road
_______
candlelight reflected up out
of greenhouse water-filled bucket
while i pile wood into the stove
in order to keep seedlings warm
on this below-freezing eve
_______

a celebration of the first night
sleeping without the
hum of walk-in cooler/freezer
rising up from below
and how the silence sings
_______

the flicker of candles
visual echoing on the walls
of others’ open-doored rooms

Leave a comment

Filed under daily practice, poems, poetry, writing

with chainsaw accessories

morning hoophouse i
carpet-sit quickly stripping
in plastic-trapped sun-heat
down to sleeveless tee
while i carve a flame
into woodblock
a lightburst thrown at
the misgivings of our own glow

_______

smell of beeswax while i lean in
carving curls of wood
with speedball knife
candle softening
in 80 degree-ness
_______

slicing apples for seven-year olds
with gaps in their mouths from
lost teeth after i explain
the woodcarving tools
and printmaking process
and a little bit about tarot to boot
_______

post-lunch
baigz, lulu and i
jingle-jamming about
pipin’ it

_______

i’m hooked i say
atop a not-yet-split log pile
in sun sprawl
sweet rachel responds

_______

caught sight of some hawk
greyish and low-flying while
i make my way to the top
of the first rise
of a pre-dinner run
_______

jillian michaels’ voice
in my head as i approach
the last hill saying something
about finishing how you started
strong
and with intention
_______

when i rise
let me rise
like a bird
with no regrets
joyfully
when i fall
let me fall
with no regrets
joyfully
we sing before
handsqueezing before
serving gado gado
onto our plates
for dinner
same song later repeated
raspily on voicemail
_______

formidable forestry crew
i say of mica, bagels and ty/marjorie
in their safety orange
with chainsaw accesories

_______

humming brahms lullaby
while pulling layers of row cover across
brassica starts in the crumbling greenhouse
_______

from the water world:
02D0C4D6-A905-4776-AFBB-AEA26F27FF75_w974_n_s
Locals cross a flooded river at Copiapo city, Chile. The death toll rose to four after rains battered the north and caused flooding, the government said, while 22 others were unaccounted for as the military rescued stranded villagers. – voice of america, day in photos

346CB1A2-ECB3-4D21-9293-5DA0519DA6B0_w974_n_s-1
An Orthodox Priest blesses Sergey Semchenko of the Russian Search and Recovery Forces after having blessed the Soyuz rocket at the Baikonur Cosmodrome Launch pad in Kazakhstan. – voice of america, day in photos

Leave a comment

Filed under daily practice, poems, poetry, writing

first thunder

spooning cinnamony
10-grain hot breakfast cereal
(sweet with apple and maple and
leftover travel cranberries)
into my mouth i say
something about carelessness
with other people’s hearts
_______
finger on emory’s tiny
(bottom jaw) loose tooth
wiggle it sideways he says
and i do
_______

during appreciations
i thank friends from afar
for giving me grounding/perspective
and say something about how
good it is to know when
someone’s got my back
_______

stirring oats and peanut butter
into melted coconut oil, vanilla, cocoa powder,milk and salt
while hum-singing along
to bon iver
lulu, mica and tyler
lounged near woodstove
and joseph drifting in
to butcher block where
emory and simon excavate
the frozen yogurt
the rain begins
______

first thunder! i write
on today’s calendar square
_______
couch-perched on screened-in porch
to feel rainbreezes move through
and to watch what lightning does
to landscape
_______
rain-on-metal-roof sound subsiding
to reveal underlying sounds
of spring peeper/chorus frog
jamboree
_______
dark-something p.m.
coyote howls arrive
in layers and waves

Leave a comment

Filed under daily practice, poems, poetry, writing

an alphabet of teeth

4something a.m.
sudden onslaught downpour
accompanied by bursts
of light against
still-black sky
_______
at some middle-of-the-nightish
kind of time the snap of
one trap and then another
each followed by the subsequent flailing
(sound of small rodent struggling
for its last breaths) and in half sleep
i try to reconcile my desire
to live in a mouse-poop-free space
with my desire to not have a hand
in taking the lives of other creatures
(creatures, in this case, whose undersides
i discover in the morning to be
soft white
whose eyeballs have bulged in true
choking fashion
whose paws, underneath fine fur, are made
of the tenderest pink
whose whiskers are thin and black
whose corpses i offer
to our yin-yanging cats
to be torn into with
carnivorous teeth
whose blood is licked up
with rough tongues

_______

leggy tomato sprouts
broken through soil in
south-facing window
_______

pre-lunch greenhouse perch
reading an alphabet of teeth

_______

karma living room covered
in posters we consider
where we are now
where we want to be
and how do we get there from here
scooters, challah and outdoor kitchens
are discussed

_______

how i laugh as we approach
the 75th (and final) crunch for
today’s 30day
ab challenge
_______
tryin to catch me scribin’ dirty
tyler sings under single light
at post dinner table while
crokinoling with
trish, emory and baigels
_______
electric guitar unplugged
muffled behind tyler’s door
while living room stove pipe
clicks as it cools
_______

from the water world:

EE9F5A9B-DA0E-4286-AEB3-B2257F8CA222_w974_n_s
A child plays in a pool during a warm sunny day in Santiago, Chile. –  voice of america, day in photos

 

Screen shot 2015-03-23 at 10.22.14 PM
An aerial view shows illegally built slums on the border of the polluted water of Billings reservoir in Sao Paulo, Brazil, February 12, 2015. Brazil today is facing its worst drought in 80 years and its economy is already expected to post zero growth this year. Worse yet, since Brazil depends on hydroelectric dams for about three quarters of its electricity, power shortages are also possible due to the drought, federal officials have said. – reuters/paulo hitaker

Leave a comment

Filed under daily practice, poems, poetry, writing