Tag: Black Hawk

poetry

a new take on an old idea

Posted on

a new take on an old idea

it’s been done for thousands of years
knit one sock
then do it all again
old women and young
twisting the yarn
wind-chapped fishermen
pulling one loop through the next
casting off then on
catching their foot in a net
knowing how it will all play out
going through the motions anyway

now here comes a new way
make one tube
and with some waste yarn
work in places for the heels to grow and bend,
the bond that kisses the toes to separate

the two still made from the same stuff
now independent
still warm cheery delicate
without retreading the same path

but as for me
I’d still do it all again
(or at least most of it –
I’d skip the concussions if I could)
I’m not casting about
for anything new

poetry

Jumbo Mountain Speaks

Posted on

This was an assignment for the Emergence Magazine Nature Writing class. We edited work using feedback from the previous session, so this is an edited version of the poem from the May 31st post.

Jumbo Mountain Speaks

come rest your weariness
on these hard rocks
a stiff wind will buffet your body
proving the heart entombed
in your aching chest
still beats

face west
toward the long white wall of peaks
back to the cities
the fires the shards
those fights are for another hour

feel your hardness
drain into the rocks beneath your palms
your porous bones no match
for their fixed crystals
you were not meant for this
your soft bleeding body
weeps water, not ice

just sit and be
while the wind works its way into you
until your rage flickers out
and there’s new space
between your ribs

I know what it’s like
to feel your heart mined out
set upon by pickaxes
swarmed by the rapacious
proving up on false claims
of their right to strip the world
of whatever life they like

and I know
how to lie still night after night
staring unblinking into quiet stillness
until my shoulders ease;
how to outlast dismantling

it takes an achingly long time
for the ore to lose its currency
the forest to gain a voice
and the scars to grow over

but just listen now
to the exultant tough little aspens
reclaiming this mountain
their young leaves fizzing with joy
roots binding the wounded slope
proving
sometimes healing happens
even in this brutal world

poetry

not normal, not ok / unselfing

Posted on

not normal, not ok / unselfing

after months of being mostly fine
one at a time today
we admit we’re not ok
we cry and storm
and frankly lose our @#$%
over nothing

but it’s the nothing of
no normal –
no normal now
no normal as far as we can see into the calendar pages
we chose one not-normal year
but never bargained for two

if in August
someone had told us what was coming
what would we have chosen?
to revel in the last months of normal
(movies, restaurants, playdates, sleepovers, baseball, shopping, concerts, hugs, puppies, coffee, museums, galleries, drinks with friends, swimming pools, trampolines, lemonade stands, parades, 10ks…)
or to see the world
while it was open?

*

Iris invites us to unself
let go
look outside
accept
we are not in control
as it was in the beginning
is now
and ever shall be
world with tricks up its sleeves
and sometimes bouquets

poetry

Jack

Posted on

Jack

she writes
Black Lives Matter
and he writes
no
undoing the humanity of millions
in two small letters
undoing his daughter’s hope
he writes no
we watch in horror
as he chooses
supremacy
power
privilege
subjugation
oppression
hegemony
arrogance
over his daughter’s
LOVE

poetry

whistling in the dark

Posted on

whistling in the dark

the wind whistles around the cabin corners
and I am put at ease
by the warmth and crackle
of the cheery fire

the virus whistles around the wide world
and we are calm
here at the end of the quiet dirt road
knowing it could find a crack any time
hoping that four stout walls
are enough to keep our minds steady

poetry

Lorica for my soon-to-be-teenage son

Posted on

Lorica for my soon-to-be-teenage son

at Moon Creek today
I call upon the winged ones
who have fired my son’s soul
since he was small

between him and adolescent angst
I place these birds and their powers
a living shield
to keep him whole as his life shifts

I place the chickadee with his confidence
and the albatross with her ease
the junco with his acceptance
and the eagle with her righteousness

I place the Arctic tern with his strength
and the loon with her devotion
the condor with his perspective
and the kakapo with her contentment

I place the bluebird with his optimism
and the snowy owl with her resilience
the trumpeter swan with his self-esteem
and the Verreaux’s eagle-owl with her wisdom

I place the little blue penguin with his connectedness
and the wooly-necked stork with her lovingkindness
the bird-of-paradise with his persistence
and the falcon with her focus

I place the bowerbird with his artistry
and the woodpecker with her grit
the blue-winged macaw with his compassion
and the ptarmigan with her warmth

all these memories and powers
I place between my sweet son
and all darkness
all despair

between his kind, trusting heart
and all forms of doubt
between gentleness
and the hard world

at Moon Creek today
I gather all these wonders
to encircle him
with their soft strong wings

to sing to him in the dark
that is not yet dawn
to remind him what a gift it is
to be here in the wide world

where hummingbirds survive hurricanes
and plovers calm crocodiles
with their grace beside him and within him
I send him out into the world

trusting he will be true
to who he is
what he loves
and what he stands and kneels for

poetry

lichen lessons / deverbing

Posted on

This poem was an experiment that didn’t quite come off, in my opinion. After hearing Merlin Sheldrake’s interview for Emergence Magazine where he talked about “de-verbing” to be “more fungal” I decided to try to write a poem about lichen then remove all the verbs. In the end, I think verbs matter.

lichen lessons / deverbing

lichen the rock
in splotches of sage
and masses of mustard
sometimes they
like tufts of feather
or gummy rubber crusts
they
then the news of the dead
white marble green

poetry

a hike together after isolating

Posted on

a hike together after isolating

the meadowlark singing
from the very top branch
of a ponderosa pine
melted summer into song
spilled in golden ribbons
across the park
and into our grey hearts
healing the hurt
of our long aloneness
warming our cautious bones

poetry

why I should choose sleep

Posted on

why I should choose sleep

dreams come carrying sparks
and maybe messages
electrical circuitry
becomes slow and even
the quiet night shift arrives
to empty the wastebaskets
and vacuum the mud-tracked carpets
time is allowed to go empty
and things are set to rights
my body prepares
for the next dawn
if I can only
let this day go

poetry

unexpected generosity

Posted on

Owen helped me film my contributions to the Earth Stanzas project. You can view them on our YouTube channel.

unexpected generosity

I keep apologetically
thanking my son
for helping me,
for spending his time
on something important to me,
and he’s just puzzled
why I should be
this grateful