Tag Archives: weather

just to listen to the sound of something wild

the thing
that makes my day is the pinnies/mesh jerseys
that christina ordered
and how i joked about hot pink and low and behold
there we are, javi, baigz and i
donning the hot pink with black trim pinnies
chasing that disc and
cheering each other on

post-frisbee and ted and i are the only two
at the pond’s edge
so quiet i can hear the sound
of water in to water
drizzle drops hitting pond surface
how every time i get on a bike out here
i tell myself it’s been too long
including today
pedaling through the little spits of rain
and all that fall color coming in
the squash kachina
arriving early (as birthdays go)
from chimayo
and how i can almost smell
the pinon smoke and certainly hear
debbie and liz’s voices and
laddie’s bark and the sound of water
from the sacred spring
reminding me
how it is something fierce
the ways i carry land and people in me
the view from stephen’s storage storage shed/office
behind the house
(trees, shrubbery, grasses)
while we talk rhythm and line breaks and
what is dust? somehow 
the way eric asks the question in the back seat as the four of us ride home
through the wet wet rain
on the wet wet gravelroads
plus all the dust-induced sneezes and wheezes
(post-clothing swap
where shirts and skirts and scarfs and socks all sailed overhead
as the auctioners tossed them to the bidders
[though there was no money involved
just eager hands signaling])
makes me laugh the kind of laugh which spirals into more laugh which means other people spiral into it too and then there are tears and then even more of the kind of laughlaugh that i often get the feeling i should suppress when it gets like this but why – when it feels so ridiculosu and good and other people are in the boat too?

electricity flickering off for 30 seconds
here and there as we dine on front porch perch
while rain goes torrential
and the lightning shocks loose
i don’t know what kind of rule book it is
but in my book that contains the rule
for silence curing coyote calls – just to listen to the sound
and its sacredness of something wild
still alive out there,
there is another rule about turning out all the lights
just to watch the scraggles and illuminations
of lighting while a storm pounds and passes


Leave a comment

Filed under daily practice, poems, poetry, writing

this is a muscle

bruin reflecting back to me that right now
i’m seeking enthusiasm and encouragement; that’s the kind of listening i’m most excited for
this is a muscle he says about making
this clear of a direct request
Real Writers™ have lots of different work to do she says:
emerging, accepting, grounding, flying, sharing, breaking hearts and taking names
in the nearly-dusk, those of us that gather do so around the red hot coals
of the darth-vadering steam boiler

the second time in a week: a softball team pose for a photo
(the group in the sugar shack gathered while the sweet steam of sugaring rises behind us
my rainwet cold hand in zeke’s at dinner circle
and how he helps warm it
emory bumblebee and i emailing bitmojis back and forth from the same room
where we sit five feet apart
stoking the internal fire
i move on a yoga mat
in a 55degree room
The rainwet cool air slowly slipping in
as i vinyasa
to the top 40 radio station
whose ads are so annoying that everytime i tune in
i eventually have to tune out

Leave a comment

Filed under daily practice, poems, poetry, writing

we think of all kinds of reasons to hi-five

the drizzle-mist that comes down for a bit

while we work our way stripping and machete-ing through field 3b

and how the mild temperature plus precipitation reminds me of the big island (hilo side) and the afternoon rains that would come in

but would never feel cold


all 285 pages of a radical existence

sealed and mailed and awaiting me

in my cubby


i almost went for rhapsody in orchid eric says

about his bowling ball selection

but instead he went for something nondescript – a plain color without a fancy name


almost spilling out of my cupped palm

a skittles rainbow

poured out from the quarter-machine

near the front door


nodding off as i write this

but slipping back into wakefulness enough to be lullabyed by

dottied in the next room singing and guitaring

a sweetest drifting off and rolling back in


how, due to my machete arm, i refrain from tossing a heavy-ass ball down the lane

but i still feel just as participatory, especially when it comes to half time

when i do my little dance in my cats-and-doughnuts leggings

careful not to step with my street shoes anywhere on the actual alley


besides strikes, we think of all kinds of reasons

to hi-five

(and this also includes the snail, the turkey, and the rocket ship)


in the backseat on our way home through the dark

emory (who normally doesn’t ask this question, and has met a fair share of genderqueers) asks whether tami who runs the bowling alley is a girl or boy

Leave a comment

Filed under daily practice, poems, poetry, writing

the rain that never came

super bulk! i call out to emory who,
in order to transport all the extra layers – we removed from his hooks in the back hallway pileup has donned every single item of clothing
super bulk! he echoes/calls back
before running the clothes down to lookfar before heading out to school
the rain that never came
(which means frisbee was still on and all the lawn got mowed and all the logs up on slater’s hill were picked up and hauled off and the laundry dried on the line)

something hilarious about frisbee,
chortling and doubling over
at the bad throws and the missed catches and how we get stuck turning over and turning over in the corner of the east endzone

the purple shinyish new berlin
eisenhower high school soccer jersey
that robbie love wears in honor of our recent discovery
of having attended the same high school – having graduated 16 years apart
and i am surprised/impressed that the jersey seems ot be the exact same version of the jersey of 20-some years ago
and it turns out it may well be 
from that era
(my teammates found this old box of jerseys  he says)

baigz dishing out wedges of his flourless chocolate cake
which i probably shouldn’t eat this late (caffeine) but i do
along with a dollop of ‘ice cream’
(frozen banana blended up with just shelled hazelnuts)
meet you in the lionbrary  she says
which is different than the enclosure and the savannah
and everytime i hear it
i can’t help but laugh at the sweet awkwardness
of the word

it is ours she writes
of the moon
it follows us home

wherein i joke about a course named
finding out how hard the floors are
and the course is at capacity
when one student enrolls
the thin gauze/veil/scrim clouds
traveling surprisingly fast
across the glow of the almost-full moon
as seen from cool ranch porch 

Leave a comment

Filed under daily practice, poems, poetry, writing

while the sky moves

the shower of so many walnuts
thumping, thwacking, banging down
onto the metal roofs of the sugar shack, the mill and cool ranch
in the morning winds picking up
announcing another storm (to follow last night’s) rolling in

the rustling of seeds as they land in shallow plastic tub
sprinkle by small sprinkle from each cosmos flower ready to give
while the sky moves from blues to pinks
and shadows travel long into the east


the photos coming in from jeaux
of gibbous the orange red blond cat:
lounging under the small garden cart,
kicking it on the 55 gallon drum,
perched on the woodstack
soft cool wet ground
under bare feet
while rain pounds
where else does one just get to do this
(wake up and walk ‘to work’ [through the woods and through the yard])
in scrappy clothes and bare feet
(an acknowledgement: it is a privilege to have shoes and choose not to wear them)

Leave a comment

Filed under daily practice, poems, poetry, writing

with a swiftness

the thank-you note in my scrawl
addressed to ghana regarding the delicious and perfect chocolate chip cookies
the sweat in beadlets along the curve of baigz’s back
as a small crew of us move through the patches of recently germinated carrots
thinning and weeding
in the hoophouse heat
sparkle and spice written
on the tell-tale blue (a mini banner)
affixed to the silver holographic pencil
just under its hot pink eraser topper
liek the pencil has an announcment to make
which it does
a list of symptoms addressed
to dr. danger
read in the hammock
where white pine limbs and needles plus wind
make that particular and most magnificent sound
as if the needles are combing the air that moves through
as seen from the back road
where two cats (mama and ashby) trot behind me
hwo the low cloud is dark/gray and it moves with a swiftness over the higher puffier whiter cloud
and that’s not even to mention
all the varying edges
and orange pink light and how earlier
emory exploded through the front door while some of us sat to dinner
exclaiming it was so beautifullllll!!!!! about the seriously
highway-to-heaven sunray sky
he encountered on the ride home
rough concrete of the cistern top below me as i recline under sky
and take in flashes of light that travel the clouds heading east –
how at their edges, constellations reveal themselves
another light-a-candle-don’t-turn-on-the-lights night
in which, before i light the candle,
i loft-lay in the breeze of the fan at the end of what might be the last 90-degree day of the season
to watch the green world glow and darken
in the lightning
the sound of ashby’s claws in the screen
wanting in 
but i don’t let him because it might be
too warm inside
for his comfort
from the water world:


A Hindu devotee performs “Pind Daan” – rituals for the soul of ancestors – in the river ganges at Phaphamau, Allahabad, India – voice of america, day in photos

Leave a comment

Filed under daily practice, poems, poetry, writing

under the almost

playing in this morning’s sky-theater:
a series of rumblings –
sets of thunder  
entering stage left
sortof scaffolded
how the downpour
during cat-feeding/chicken-feeding/dog feeding time
turns purple skirt
and how the subsequent downpours after that mean
cycling through three pairs of shoes
until i pull on the quarter-of-a-size too-snug muck boots (ahem)
and tromp my way through too-tall grass
persimmon season
 i say to myself
upon seeing the first fruits (not yet orange – a dusty green) 
fallen onto wet ground just down the path
leading away from cool ranch

season signal:
pulling light blue wool socks onto
rain-cold (and toweled off) feet,
a name for this first-time-in-months certain quality of cozyness
how the image of building a boat out of glitter sticker paper
is exactly what this seriously noah’s ark of a day needs
might be the last year
 stan says
while grabbing yet another fried fish hunk
from the pan of them
the last year he is referring to
is of sorghum (starting, transplanting, weeding, stripping, harvesting, syurping) 
(place symbol here that signals deep pause and heavy hit)


i wouldn’t give dean shit like i gave eric shit – dean’s got the senior VIP
i joke about how i asked eric if he indeed meant girl or woman 
when he said his friend was dating this girl
and later we are all laughing when
dean and stan (age 70) are calling each other boy and kiddo,
and also when dean says where the old folks live  talking about sandhill
(the oldest being me at 41, and everyone else in their thirties and twenties and nines)
nodding off while
swirled in the blanket layers
of cool ranch treehouse nest
under the almost-goldglow string of lights
fingers on the keys leaving me with these:


from the water world:

A stranded motorist escapes floodwaters on Interstate 225 after Hurricane Harvey inundated the Texas Gulf coast with rain causing mass flooding, in Houston, Texas. – voice of america, day in photos

Indian devotees immerse an idol of the elephant-headed Hindu god Ganesh in the Indian ocean at Pattinapakkam beach in Chennai. – voice of america, day in photos

Leave a comment

Filed under daily practice, poems, poetry, writing