Tag Archives: sun

so sustenance-ful

the sun
that finally shows itself
through treehouse window
glowing on the morning thoughts
of free spirits
the organics inspector
handing me a piece of paper
with the name of a nebraska poet
(whose last name might have one t 
or might have two)
written on it
the tiny black bugs
that land and bite
on forearms, on calves
as i collect cosmos seed
in the heat of the low sun
cynthia and i snacking
on the ‘cheese’ pretzel chex-like
snack mix
on the drive back along these great expanses
of bright bright risen (like a bowl of dough) green
plus autumnal treeglow on top
under the upside down bowl
tyler reveals, boiled,
the first chestnut harvest
at sandhill
and the tasture (taste and texture)
so sustenance-ful
in my mouth
one moth bumping
against the pane of a window
because that’s where all the light is
makes a remarkable amount of sound
(to the point of audio-ly resembling raindrop)
i turn off the light
from the water world:

Farmers paddle in a boat at a flooded village after a tropical depression in Hanoi, Vietnam. – voice of america, day in photos


Leave a comment

Filed under daily practice, poems, poetry, writing

we made a pact

the chainsaw humbuzz whine-whir
coming down from slater’s hill
and i think about the sound vocabulary
i have learned here
(in other words, that sound = baigz in orange safety gear
dancing around a trunk/log/branch and weilding the heavy-to-me machine
and moving it through wood with ease
like a sending the blade of a hot knife through butter.)

the first time in a week and a half+  i report
that the squirrels didn’t wake me up with their
scritchy scratchy frenetic fall energy.
we made a pact

how the sunset – gold foil crinkled across sky with redpink light reflecting off – distracts me, pulls me outside onto the backroad
and then to my desk 
which means i never say goodbye to dean our dinner guest
nor do i show up to sit 
with the sangha

i have a secret/not-so-secret dream i write
that is a couple acres (or more) big. the dream has flowers in it. and two writers making salsa. and sunrises. and spaciousness. and it has two baskets, so i don’t have to put all my eggs in one. or maybe even ten baskets. and it is filled with discernment and heart-led risks.
leaf-crunch footsteps approaching
and then soles on floorboards and then
dottie at my door
holding up an offering in the glare of my desklight:
a jeaux-made cookie
sugar or snickerdoodle
soft and sweet
the kind of evening that
i could nightwander for miles in
under the luminance
of the swelling moon and through the
slight breeze and air so light staying at a temperature that drops no lower than 70

Leave a comment

Filed under daily practice, poems, poetry, writing

all the fallen persimmons

words for the way the fall sun
at its low angle
not just up but still early in the sky
backlights the broad still-green leaves
i stand under
on the gravel road
at the end of my run
glancing up
at magnificence


the goodmorning message that 
reads: welcome to another day
with us in it


a chain:
me (as i write) watching mama cat
(and her intent and inqusitive face) as she watches
a squirrel swinging fantastically
as any acrobat
(and maybe even more fantastic than some)
through the persimon trees

is it raining near you she asks
i think we’re in each other’s storm system
the box that arrives packed
with spices for making hari mirch ka achaar
repacked by jnfr
along with a note 
keeping ourselves espicy!

there is no word
for the kind of happiness
the dahlias
and gumphrena
and snapdragons
and asters
and strawflowers
and bachelor’s buttons
and zinnias
and celosia
and cosmos bring me
while i walk among them
and clip the right and ready ones
and then arrange them
in a clear clean jar
of water

the rustling around
just outside my room
of a possum (white and gray/black)
whose lips/mouth i can actually hear smack
as they feast
on all the fallen persimmons
from the water world: 

This photo shows a man performing on a water-propelled flyboard at Shenyang Olympic Park in Shenyang in China’s northeastern Liaoning province. – voice of america , day in photos

Leave a comment

Filed under daily practice, poems, poetry, writing


in the dark, awake
before brightness
how i watch light and color (through leaves and limbs) seep in

good morening i write(that’s like a morning with more morning in it)


hot pink confetti
jumping out of envelope as i
slice it open
how i laugh at the cascade
on floor
on earth
on thigh

clyde in the truck bed
ty and i in the front seats
eric and cynthia in back
ty and i peanut gallerying
marathon ridiculous joke style
for 15 miles (with breaks)
and how dotite
should have been there too
(i had this great dream the other night,
thought i’d cut it up and serve it for dinner too)
this bean – green and planted and plucked by our hands, a prayer
so goes the first typewritten line
of a poem 
for baigs

Leave a comment

Filed under daily practice, poems, poetry, writing

all the crumbs

adult raccoon and young one not far behind
scooting across the gravel road i run on
five feet in front of me

post-run snack plucked right up
from the foresty floor:
persimmons – perfectly soft and what is the name
for the feel of that soft fruit skin against my fingers
and then there is the entire branch heavy with fruit
that broke off and now hangs from a peg outside my room
for the purpose of ripening, but also looking like a quite fine fall decoration
the flurry and yellow/gold of bees funneling
in and out of a little tunnel/pit in the ground in lemony morning light
alongside the path down towards the old canada road
where we usually don’t drive the tractors through if it’s even the slightest bit wet
because they always get stuck
cynthia braces me for the sadness
of the carolina parakeet
people would shoot at it for sport
and the thing about the carolina parakeet is that
when one of the flock dies, they all come to gather around it
reminds me of (white) people shooting at bison
from train windows
just because there were so many and
just because they could


how i get down on the astroturf floor
in the empty upstairs of the mennonite store on highway two
(where one can serve themselves their own soft serve ice cream)
to cuddle with the stuffed animal tiger
sprawled out on the floor,
and it doesn’t stop there – ghana and i take turns hugging the hippo, the crocodile, the pig, the various kinds of dogs, the sheep, the elephant and trish cuddles up with the panda
and i joke about meeting our
hug quota for the day
and even though they are just stuffed animals (well, i always thought they were alive anyway),
my heart feels squishier and my body lighter afterwords

all the crumbs the dutch letters leave (in this case, S’s) on ghana and trish and i
after we delight in the final food indulgence of our day
out on highway two
hitting up all the amish and mennonite stores
trish showing me one of the 
happy salmon moves
(flapping a hand against another’s forearm)
in preparation for a game she suspects i’ll love
and based on this alone, her suspicion is correct

mid-september sunset
(sky so crispclear
and the contrast fo clouds against it –
some in the general shape of a great spine curving along the southwest edge of sky
and light lowering (orange)
and how somehow it all smells/tastes/is colored something like
a september taos sky
(a call from three septembers past echoing out into the future – now)

Leave a comment

Filed under daily practice, poems, poetry, writing

when something rattles inside

a name for the tea i pour in the morning
into a cup i leave on the windowsill
for her spirit to sip on
(today it is the chai kind with MACAW and verna’s honey)

feet bare on hard lookfar soil
and sun on my shoulders asi move slowly through
the whites pinks purples and greens
of the cosmos
whose seeds i gather in a plastic ice cream gallon
and i think about how just when the plant is browning/drying/dying
(a think people might want to turn their heads from)
it sends out seed
more magic than any bloom
the whir-buzz-hum-drone
and emerald
of the hummingbird
beelining and diving
around the pollen-full flowers
the white whisps drifting
as i pre-winnow, fistful by fistful,
the just-collected cosmos seed in the slight breeze

when something rattles inside trish says
leaning over in the cowpeas explaining
when they’re ready to harvest

gibbous the gold orange cat
who disappeared for a day and a half
reappears at his feeding perch
with a limp in his hind legs and a crusty scab spot
on his forehead 
moving even more gingerly
than usual

not neon and not molten 
but somewhere in between
(the redpinkorange
of a perfectly round sun
as it hovers just over horizon)

Leave a comment

Filed under daily practice, poems, poetry, writing

a yell of yes

a yell of yes through megaphoned hands deep into my chest
i will carry the reverberations
a great distance
how we avoid the assault of unnatural light at 5something a.m.
by not turning any of them on
and just seeing/navigating
around the recliner, the double bed, the small table, the nightstands,
carpeting under our bare feet
the approach of the train (as announced through its whistling)
while jnfr pulls a card from the deck
(four of bones) and how i rush her out
to greet the hulking rolling metal string of cars
the recede of the train (as announced through its whistling)
before i pull a card in the streetlight pre-dawn
(#8 – strength)
which is just what i need to get me through
the drive back
the blue of a sky whose sun has not yet risen
in a town i barely know
as seen from the driver’s seat of a 1996 white toyota truck
parked at the train station
while the morning traffic starts sending
its pulses out
the sun a neon smudge
coming up
to my left
as i head back the way i came
in an unlikely scene of me at the wheel
carrying myself the hour and a half home

the white tail and tawny body
bounding miraculously fast and leaping magnificently tall
along the fenceline along highway k
how i slow way down just in case she decides to cross
and how she instead
ducks in through a hole
to join another bounding leaper
all  your yesses  i write  are a version of the l word
i can get behind

we create beautiful movement ted writes in the email about frisbee game times
and i generally don’t think about us sprinting
up and down the field in this way
but it’s true
we do
from the water world:

Residents wade and ride on pedicabs along a partially flooded road, in Las Pinas Metro Manila as a storm sweeps across the main Luzon island, Philippines. – voice of america, day in photos

A mobile home community is flooded in the aftermath of Hurricane Irma in Everglades City, Florida. – voice of america, day in photos

A dead sea turtle floats in waters polluted by a big oil spillage in a bay on the island of Salamina near Athens, Greece. – voice of america, day in photos

Leave a comment

Filed under daily practice, poems, poetry, writing