Category Archives: Uncategorized

feels like a direction

morning on the porch
i look to meet where mama cat’s gaze is pointing
to find a brown bat perched (right side up and three feet from me) on the exterior wall to my room
 and there are two things to say about this:
1. one of the things i love most about where i live is frequent (and close) encounters with wild creatures
2. each encounter feels like a direction or a guide for the day, how i carry their spirit/essence with me
_______
baigels, emory, mark and i
coasting with our arms out like wings
as if riding air currents high above
like a turkey vulture 
(which happens to be the name on our team)
as we head towards the tossed disc

_______

somehow, after living here for nearly four years,
i encounter/notice the wild yellow blooms of birdsfoot trefoil along the dancing rabbit pond path closely for the first time
and how i can’t stop marveling at both the shape of the blooms and also the sheer deep yellow/gold/almost orange color
of them all
________

it would involve a lot of ritual, like weeks or months leaing up toi say about how i don’t hunt but if i did
and I wouldn’t use a gun

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Filed under daily practice, poems, poetry, Uncategorized, writing

the almost

the almost iridescent indigo
of the first larkspurs flowering
on the edge of the herb garden
_______
abundance in the color red:
stainless steel bowl filled with strawberry harvest and
several buckets of cherries awaiting pitting
in the walk-in (and fruits still dangling
off the trees)
_______
how the rare sound of a helicopter overhead
most likley means someone is being airlifted
so when the chopper hums past today
i send wishes along with it
to whoever is aboard
and their dear ones
_______
only four pages into braiding sweetgrass and already
it is a good good book
_______
multiple encounters with the groundhogs
who live under my room
including standing a mere foot from a baby
before it startles off towards cover
and also including many shrieks/whistles
and scampering to shelter and also
several stare downs
and how this is one of the things writing is all about
(meaning: half of the writing
is looking/listening/watching and being curious)
_______
sound of the tractor rolling back in around sunset
from an emergency sorghum watering/rescue
and how the least i could do was clean up dinner
as a way to say thank you for caring
for the little planties
_______
how i leave the phone and ringer on
at night like an emergency hotline
so i can be there
just in case
_______
the lightning bug morse coding
with the on-off of its green LED-like light
as it crawls along the pane
of the cedar room’s north-facing window

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they say mountain lion

working my way down the spinach and pea bed
while trish works her way down the salad mix bed
the morning dew dampening our feet and shoes
reminding me of sauvie island farm mornings
where we woke with the sun
and went out to the greens
so that we could get to washing them before noon
_______
the wildcat sighting tyler reports 
seen on the gravel road on his way to town:
a bigger cat like creature and her young
from the size of it, he was guessing bobcat
(and later, emory and althea go out to inspect the tracks and scat
and, looking at the tracking book, they say mountain lion)
did you measure the tracks with your hand  i ask
_______
you are rich, i like having rich friends darien says
rich in kindness

_______
smudge of sunset
a short walk between meditation and calling it a night
light hues already disappearing into the beyond:
peach pinks and dusty purples
evaporating from horizon

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why we don’t make more beautiful things

the hum/buzz comes first,
then the sighting:
blur of hummingbird zooming through
lush greenscape of spring in northeast missouri
_______

the flutter of fabric strips
(old sheets in mostly white and pastels)
in the morning wind as darien and i work together to
lay them out in groups of six,
then bundle them,
then nail them to the top of the maypole
and then unbundle and stake them each into the ground
approximately 3 or 4 feet apart
the sight of which, once fully assembled, always makes me think/wonder why
we don’t make more beautiful things 
just for the sake of things beaing beautiful here
_______
trish suggesting the red wig
(run lola run color, and long, all the way down my back)
as we discuss the day’s costumery
for the near-approaching land day/may day 
which marks sandhill’s 43rd year
and the red wig changes everything
_______
the ding! of my typewriter bell in the sideyard
as i pound out poems to go
for mostly kids but also an adult
(on magic,
on unicorns,
on dogs,
on balance)
_______

cynthia’s whistle sounding off in the whitehouse yard
at the field games which include but are not limited to:
the crab walk, the 3 legged race, sack race, tug of war, wheelbarrow race
_______
too many kids wielding too many coal-red singe-ended sticks around the bonfire
stokes my instinct to leave
though i resist and just step further back
from the hazard

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the return of the moon

how the return of the moon
to the night sky means
i carry my headlamp in hand
while making my way down the short foresty path
behind the privvy and past the mushroom logs
but, despite the sun long gone, i don’t need to turn it (the headlamp) on

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this is the risk

awoken by a lot of lightning
a little wind
and some light rain
as seen and heard from the windows
of the loft bed perch
_______
how the day begins:
wiping a hand across my brow
and finding a tick there
which i remove and drop
into the jar of alcohol
(this is the risk i take sharing
my bed with cats)
_______

the trail of heartthrob (the game) cards
that cynthia and i find along the highway
and read outloud
as we walk and place recyclables in one bag
and trash in another
_______

mystified by the scent in my room
unable to place it until i remember
the lilacs
_______
in the shade of the karma pond trees
near granola’s grave
a tin of salmon passed
back and forth
_______
the whine of the orbital sander in my hands
as i pass it over and over the walls and dividers
of the left side of my future desk
working on sawhorses outside karma
where inside in the shop
i can hear cynthia’s nail gun
attaching the drawer parts
to each other
_______
yesterday night’s fireflies that i forgot to mention yesterday
(how i had to pause in the little forest path to discern what the collection of brief and singular shimmers were)
and how i encounter them again tonight
on my dusk path walk down
to the sugar shack
_______
 from the water world:

Indian laborers transport bamboo logs down the Longai River near the Tripura-Mizoram state border in Damchara. – voice of america, day in photos

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broken clothespins

tonight, the reason telephones exist
is so that i can call my mom and tell her that
i thought of her when i was hanging my laundry on the line today
and remembered how she would always bring me the broken clothespins because i was so good at resurrecting them

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