poetry

when the land was wild

when the land was wild

había otra vez
in a thin country
bound by sea and spines
where ghost ships sailed
and sirens still sang
a race of tiny deer
the size of tomcats
with delicate antlers
spotted sides
and rounded bottoms

había otra vez
in the pure rushing waters
turquoise white and green
a cat of the river
half a man’s size
playful and inquisitive
its sensitive whiskers ever active
and its cheeks always stretched
into a grinning half smile

había otra vez
in the dark forest
where spiderwebs were like stairsteps
ascending into sky
an impossibly grand woodpecker
so brilliant when it landed
the alerce trees ignited
and it dripped sparks
across the beings of this country

of course
this was all in a different time
far younger than now
when the land was still wild
and the legends were true
now all we feel is absence
the cold shadow of loss
where warm flesh once was

Uncategorized

Leap Day

Leap Day

the leftover fragments of other years
cobbled together
to make an impulsive day
beyond the capability
of my wristwatch to reconcile

what did we pour into
this freebie grabbag of hours?

a luminous sunrise
over islands over water
firing the wood paneling
of our little cabin

watching penguins from our breakfast
of warm rolls dotted with butter
melting to pools

looking for pudús (always)

watching metallic green hummingbirds
zip from fuchsia to pine bough

rambling down the beach path
to join the penguins on the water

taking in the black and white
volcanoes across the way
that mark the continent’s spine

entering the blue white yellow
Iglesia de Nuestra Señora de Chonchi
watching the stars wink
above a sea of incense and prayers

coming into Queilén, a warm haven
where the sea can sing to you
and the moon is tipped
in an unfamiliar way

every day is an uncertain gift
each date one that might never arrive
but some are imbued
with a bit more magic
sometimes we have the sense
to savor the day’s passing
before regret can even rise

poetry

standing declaration

Graham’s penstemon photo by Susan Meyer. White-tailed ptarmigan photo by Owen.

standing declaration

Do you believe in a creator
who intends that humans should
act as guardians of creation?

my chest opens
and frozen birds fall out
my lips part
and fuzzy orange tongues
lisp yes yes yes
my hands clench and unclench
in an angry motion like prayer
all signifying
who have we become
when we must swear in a court of law
that we still believe
in the righteousness of compassion
before scientists can do their job?

tonight while sleep stifles me
I’ll do my own work
dreaming of penstemons and ptarmigans
in a paradise devoid of people
where they’re left to sing their own songs
make sun into sugar into flight
just for the pure joy of being
not to do a single ape good

poetry

Tuhuroa

Tuhuroa

slate on grey on white
ocean rock cloud
stacked in antediluvian layers
disappearing into sky
wind whips and a seal pup slides
belly against sand

you can feel the bridge here
earth/sky water/land
forms always departing
too soon after manifesting
dissolving into mist and cloud
gone

poetry

Hector’s Visit

Hector’s Visit

he’s overcome
each time another animal chooses him
overjoyed they’d share a moment

today when the little dolphin
broke away from her pod
and frolicked all around the boat
saying hello a dozen ways
he was amazed

before that, when massive Toy Soldier
the show jumper nuzzled his shirt
he glowed at being touched

the little owl, blue penguin, purring cheetah
each animal he’s really met
says clearly to him
as if in his mother tongue
you are not alone
reconnects his hairless ape life
to the world of fur feather bone wild
his pressed palm feels a real heart beat
and remembers we’re all one

and someday
he’ll feel that in the tree and fern
skipping river and stinging wind
silent stars and now-cold stone
even the space between cells
the negative cloud where all’s uncertain
even there in the nothingness he’ll sense
we’re all one
he’s tethered to every last bit
including his four chickens
that haven’t yet hatched

poetry

Weka with a Walking Stick

Owen took this photo.

Weka with a Walking Stick

little tokoeka comes hobbling along the strand
planting his walking stick
in every likely bit of wrack
big clown feet marking up the beach
with dinosaur tread
tiny round bum barely balancing him out
and we’re all transfixed
our prayers answered
but this biggish bird just keeps going about
his jolly way
slowly becoming mammal
not realizing a whole people
have named themselves after him

poetry

royal (albatross)

Owen took this photo.

royal (albatross)

through the whirl of white-bodied
red-legged foul-mouthed retching gulls
she wheels on impossibly long thin
elegant angular
tapered black-and-white wings
her dark eye unfazed by either
the mob of petty gulls
or the gasping people
dodging guano bombs below
and with her sweeping circuits comes
a silence seen (not heard)
a stillness felt
in the presence of grace

poetry

at Green Cape Light

at Green Cape Light

I go looking for a light in the darkness
even on days the sun shines full blast

look up – magic everywhere
today: a wombat scratching his back with a lighthouse
my happy healthy mum watching an echidna
my family ringed by waves
thrusting our heads into the center
of a crystal lens
learning how to turn
a flicker of flame
into a broad-beamed beacon
to keep drifting souls
(especially ours)
away from the rocks
anywhere in the world

poetry

red panda in the sprinkler

red panda in the sprinkler

his sleek black stomach
begs a caress
cinnamon coat goes scruffy
in the spray
upturned mouth stretches
a gleeful wet face
into a weak smile
while sparks of sun
splash everywhere

poetry

pouch peek

pouch peek

wooly grey fur ripples
in an unsettling way
skin splits and a nose peeks out

suddenly we learn
where koala kids are stored
in a space not as like a pocket
as a furred womb

mother K lazes unfazed
as joey rumpuses about
she’s shared her body
long as she can remember now
making room for him
not just in her heart