poetry

underland

underland

I’m not ready to be
underground
unprepared to enter
the underworld
my brief visits so far
have been uncomfortable
shot through with wonders, yes,
but also the oppressive feel
of too little air
and too much rock
too much thick impenetrable dark

in Ireland we descended below dolmans
in the white-grey lime of the Burren
walked a muddy path
to an echoing room
with frozen rock icicles
amazing – yes
magical – no
it had the cold feel
of forbidden

back in the day
when bat noses were black
we found our way into
each of Boulder’s caves:
Harmon, Mallory, Boy Scout, Davy Crockett, Cavernous Sinus
(some now gated with metal grilles –
one more pleasure our sons will never know,
but a worthy concession to the bats)
(also somewhere up Clear Creek Canyon)
small rooms with graffiti
and the soot of illicit fires
spaces more likely to hide transients than the wild
they still gave cool shade, otherworldly echo,
the sense of adventurous exploring

then Caribou Mine
Tom Hendricks’s baby
open to the public now and then
the real deal, silver and gold still pulled out
of veins that once fed
the ghost town by the same name
we used to see him in Nederland
pale blue overalls and no shirt
hair cut by his own hand
he dominated the hand drilling contest
at Miners’ Days
a place industry and fantasy merged
jackhammers slowly turned the mountain to dust
it was all business

later Lenin’s tomb
red letters on black background
silent young men with Kalashnikovs
at each crowded landing
I gulped in fear
whenever it was
my turn to sink lower

at Carlsbad Caverns, finally overwhelming awe
we walked through wonders all day
even came back for more
I kept saying It’s just like Journey to the Center of the Earth!
(later I learned why –
some scenes were filmed there)
still the smell of the entrance swallows
made us hold our breath
and question our choices

next the Bat Cave (Gua Kampret)
black cool in the Sumatran swelter
sometimes green jewels broke open
across its uneven roof
reminding us where we were right then
unseen poisonous creatures
around every dark bend

lastly, most spectacularly,
the glowworm grotto
blue dangling orbs
laying fanciful traps
wherever our barque drifted
Te Anau fairy tales sparkled
we can always come home here

still, I’m not ready
to lie quiet
in some shallow rectangle now
with no view of sky sun stars
I need more time
more air
more earth
more days

poetry

the river grows

the river grows

at lunch the friendly waiter explains
in a month from now
when the rains come
water will cover
all these rocks

we murmur in surprise
sit placidly on the same rocks
after our meal
retire to our room
and then the rain starts
slow at first
uneven pings that could be monkeys
then the usual short steady afternoon shower
then it changes, drives down in pounding lines
the whole scene a gray blur of
air displaced by water
shingles shoot past the open woven window
and the stream beside the lodge
becomes a chocolate surge
it pounds on like this all afternoon
until I wonder
what’s a cyclone like?
then I remember to check the river –
the rocks are gone, a month early
each one washed by
the galloping white waves studding
thick brown ropes of river
racing away from the rain
bringing the mountain down with it

Thanks to Cedar for helping to type this one up!

poetry

Feminist Fashion Police Strike Again

Cedar commissioned this poem.

Feminist Fashion Police Strike Again

the irony

the terrible mistakes made
in the making, selling, wearing of this t-shirt:
“AFRAID TO MAKE MISTAKES”
bold white letters on a red ground with a smattering of blue stars
evoking America

the worst part is that it’s not worn by some silly little slip of a girl
she’s a middle-aged woman
in a sensible headscarf
out with friends
on the river trail

the best part is
that my 9-year-old boy is horrified
wants to tell her to dare
wants to show her the mother-of-pearl insight
inside failure’s ugly oyster
wants to hold her hand
to help her be braver
like he held mine
after the bat’s wings brushed my arm.

poetry

Fire + Air + Water + Air + Chlorophyll

Fire + Air + Water + Air + Chlorophyll

sun burns 93 million miles
touches river
still air decides to move in a jungle sigh
beams bounce in shimmering waves
dance across soft undersides of overhead leaves
paint swirls of gold into the green
make a fairy light I now know to look for
as improbably probable as rain + sun = a spectrum in the sky

poetry

victory

victory

in the jungle
headlamp draws
so many bugs
I can’t breathe

even held in my hand
light invites too many
winged spectators
to be able to think
about anything
except being done

as usual
arthropods win

poetry

Bukit Lawang sketches

Bukit Lawang sketches

i

is it raining?
Alex asks
no
we are just surrounded
by river and stream

ii

explosive crash
onto tin roof
monkeys making
typical trouble

iii

barefoot=chicken-leg
when Cedar’s legs tire
he sighs
my baby cows are crying

every day for me
the quandary:
insufferable heat
or offensive thigh display?

iv

mixed fruit drink
and ginger tea =
exotic refreshment

by day 3:
back to Coke & Sprite

v

mama/baby orangutan appear
vivid orange against the green
of the cave’s gap

you are unlucky
our guide says sympathetically
you already trekked yesterday
(=made unnecessary payment
for extraneous orangutan viewing)

you mean lucky
we say
our orangutan economics
quite different

vi

better to trek Saturday
our guide says
on Sundays local people come here
to photograph tourists
they scream too much
when they see you,
frighten orangutans

will they lure us with fruit?
I ask

today on the bridge
a father suddenly throws
his son’s arm around Cedar
snaps a photo
what will his story be?

Thanks to Cedar for helping type this poem.

poetry

forest man

Owen took this photo.

forest man

sun turns thick tufts of fur to flame
stretched arms casually clasp
tree limbs slowly bending to forest floor
a long face looks down
at the baldish ape-men
with a modicum of curiosity
munches a leaf a nut a fruit
holds a trunk with feet-hands
tosses his arms this way and that
jointless as a Muppet

gentle orange man
forgive us for what we unthinkingly do
greedily eating blue packets of greasy Oreos
that probably burned your cousins in their nests

like all the endangered ones
you’re sentenced despite your innocence
you never asked for trouble
just a leaf umbrella from the rain