Tag Archives: sky

instantly angelic

the wild party of blister beetles
(plump black bodies with a matte gray stripe)
skittering in the baby beets
whose leaves have been decimated
by the infestation
_______
light cool drops of rain that land
on noses, cheeks shoulders
as we make our way up/down the bean beds
the snap and thunk
of plucking pods and dropping them into 5-gallon buckets
_______
twin-beans i call the double beans
which i have never seen before
melded together along one side then coming apart at the bottom
something comparable to the shape of a pair of pants
_______ 

how instantly angelic our voices sound
amongst the broomswishes and the shovelscrapes
when one of us (out of kit, baigz and i) holds a note
and the others tack their harmonies on
as we continue about our cleaning work
in the underground pit of the concrete cistern
whose acoustics make it irresistable to not play with noise
(and later, it is witch cackles and ghost sounds and sometime after that, beatboxing and bucket thumping)
_______
some kind of spiritual practice i say about our task at hand
of moving water with brooms and shovels and buckets
_______
the impulse to build the finest blanket fort or
the coziest nest
for one whose world is spinning fast both inside and outside
and the impossibleness of doing so
from miles away
_______
stepping out of mica’s house into the sunset 
which is everywhere
(gold and light pink laid over every possible surface including ourselves)

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how the pallette changes

trish and i working our way down the same row
of amish paste tomatoes laughing when
we simultaneously reach for the same fruit
_______
the particular stickiness 
the tomatillo fruits leave on our fingers
while we (baigz, eric, trish and i) peel them
one after another
working our way through three five-gallon buckets
_______
the satisfaction that comes from
using the same pot of water three times
(once for steaming the carrots that will become carrot butter,
once for cooking the edamame
and once for cooking the sweet corn given to us by the mercantile due to their
overflowing bounty)
_______
i came to celebrate whatever’s found
i came to rise up, i came to get down
this song sneaking itself
into every little open spot in my brain and how i cannot help but laugh
every time it comes out
_______
how the pallette changes as the season goes on i say to carolyn
about the flowers and how these days
There’s so much red/pink/fuschia/purple
(cockscomb, asters, zinnias, globe amaranth)
these days, i have a lot of yellows carolyn says
_______
as if the sky was water and someone
dripped a few drops of food coloring (rose gold) into it
spreading from cloud to cloud until it is all
saturated in a renassaince light

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million dollar moon

the thunk of a fruit
landing hard onto the metal roof
of the sugar shack
a pear  jennifer says
a pear!  i exclaim not even knowing
a pear tree lived down here
______
peter telling the story of toulouse
the jack russel/rat terrier
magnificent companion
who had learned how to use the autumatic window control
and then there was the time toulouse was trapped
in a running car
and how peter tried to talk to him through the window saying
now, toulouse! now is the time to do the window trick!
______
me going on about how ridiculous
a poetry contest is
for wording it as the best poem
(the best poem will receive the $500 prize)
and jenafr chimes in saying
the best poem for being in grief
might not be the best poem
for celebrations
and then we go on
to call the moon coming up
(the orange sky a sky a fourth grader might draw
for a halloween picture)
the best moon and award it
its $500 prize
_______


the last glimpse of the moon
 i say
as we pause in its still-rising light
at the edges of sandhill cemetary
our bikes at our sides

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family because we are

walking through the thinnest mist
this morning
and loving the grey sky above the green summer-leafed-out trees
and the little bits of water
visible everywhere (near/far) in the air
_______
standing on cool ranch porch
and finding that the bat has returned to its roost after a day of absence
while mama cat looks up at me from where she weaves between my feet and as
ashby the cat approaches on the path
i say something like oh good, we’re all together again
as if we are family
because, in fact, we are
_______

the second bouquet i’ve brought
to a second friend
in two days
which makes me think something like
come for the pollination
and stay for the a-beautiful-thing-to-give-to-people-so-that-you-never-show-up-empty-handed bonus


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woven with green

the sound of big white chunks of salt
hitting a paper plate
as i rub them off before ripping soft pretzel pieces apart
and dipping them in the small plastic ramiken of ‘cheese’
a throwback to my work breaks
in the kmart eatery
_______
the wild edge of sorrow
 sharon says as we walk the mown path
past the old homestead
whose main feature at this point
is the metal windmill woven with green leafy vines that climb up
and back down again
_______
it’s beautiful  i say from the bench
alongside dennis’s grave
where sharon and i sit
sometimes holding hands
the rituals you have chosen
you are showing us
how to do this

the great golden and slightly pink light
(which makes me think of that rose gold jewelry)
showing in the west
while a sprinkle of rain pitter pats down
which registers as the recipe for rainbows and sure enough,
visible through a clearing in the canopy down by the sugar shack
just a part of the arc showing through
roygbiv in full effect

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the kind of blue that lets light through

yeah, we could call it burning the man
i joke while we all joke on the front porch at lunch about how sandhill
becoming a festival
at which dj deep dish is a wedding officiant
and attendees can choose from a menu of five options
of what kind of ceremony they’d like
(hip hop being one of them)
_______
wearing steel toed combat boots and walking in formation to sit at a desk in an office kris talks about the weird comedic experience
of being a fema/americorps volunteer
and how we wore these shirts that said FEMA in huge letters on the back
and it was like wearing a ‘kick me’ sign, people hate FEMA
_______
a kind of summer victory:
tightening the final knot of the final string of twine of the final tomato trellising
not that the plants are done growing
but that the Tposts are only so tall
_______
there is something quaint
about tying brown bags around already-bloomed sunflower heads
to catch their seeds before the birds pluck them out
some things are just
that simple
_______
the drone/whine/buzz
of two hummingbirds divebombing the red-yellow sunflowers
at the south edge
of south garden
_______
me in my sandals and skirt and sleeveless tee
walking west on the gravel road that i first cut my gravel-road-biking teeth on (literally)
sentence by sentence whispering intentions
my finger hooked through the water bottle cap
which dangles and sways with each step
_______
and the sky:
broad feathery streaks
of luminescent cloud
painted across it,
the sky itself a dome
painted the kind of blue that lets light through
and beginning to copper and gold-rose
at the edges
_______
from the water world

People take a foot bath at a park in Tokyo’s Roppongi district, Japan. – voice of america, day in photos

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the cool creek calls me back

the soft pink of an early sky
lightening as seen in the west through the stands of evergreens as i poke my head up out of the sleeping bag layers
while the sun rises to the east
 _______
baja or bust we joke on our way out
driving the same route we drove yesterday
but this time with eileen in her toyota truck with the cattle mover on the front
and our toes chilly with the cool of morning
the swallows circling around the one barn they seem to always circle around and the sheep sheared and grazing in fields behind fences
and that one strange garden on the left that just seems to be pots on concrete/astroturf fenced in as we roll past
_______
the little birdling sounds that eleicit sole and i peering over the creekside fence
to find baby quail probably about the size of one of those standard plastic easter eggs
rustling about and their parents too
skittering to/fro
_______
dust rising from the paths,
spangles and glitter and pasties and loin cloths and shor shorts and galactic leggings and crinolines and busties and tie dye and wigs and faerie wings and dragon costumes and paper mache rattles and giant bubbles and the blast and bass of marching bands moving past 
this is the tiniest slice as observed from a careful distance
of the oregon country fair
and all the while i’m taking massage reservations
on a color-coded sheet
pressed onto the surface of a clipboard

_______
no street shoes reads the sign outside the dance pavillion tent
and so we doe-see-doe and allaman right and balance and swing
barefoot minus those
who came with their dance shoes packed
away somewhere

_______
give her some elbows,
beat her up a little bit
michael from minnesota in the lime green says
about me on the massage chair which i like the sound of so
later i point to him and demand some elbows
_______
the slices of chocolate mint pie treat
that sole cuts for eileen and i
and the risk of sleeplessness eileen and i take
by partaking
_______

another night of sleeping under a moon-filled sky
and the great trees that canopy over me
reaffirming my decision not to not sleep in the zone of party domes and porta potties and even though the night comes alive
with fire shows and bass beats
the sound of the cool creek calls me back
and yes there is a part of me that remembers a little bit wistfully the up-all-night nights of 
bass beats and djs and the frenzies we’d work ourselves into over sound
but there is another part of me that knows
that spirit is far from dead

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