The Places They Go

Nobody heralded the arrival of winter this year.

Soon enough, days hang still

Here we are.

On the cusp, the trailing end of something.

Unannounced winter.

.

Leaden December sky,

Look west and see apricot sunshine

Spilling over everything.

Tell me your secrets here on the edge.

.

Tomorrow the children will gather here

The snow gone in the oak woodlands

In the valley, the first flower peeks skyward

The children gather up their dreams and desires

All through the green grass

They gather them up as fast as they can

For Winter lives here a while longer.

.

In the garden, a blue flower

Cobalt blue with a single black petal

Growing along the fence.

Do you remember?

.

Do you remember,

When we walked along the creek?

Finding that same flower, the single black petal

The children all grown up

Now eating chocolate,

Cobalt blue flower chocolate

While they live their dreams.

.

In the valley and through the oaks

We are still children

We gather up new dreams now

So that we might live them a little longer.

.

Recall a still December afternoon,

Leaden skies, painted apricot

There we found a piece of Springtime,

And gathered it up as carefully as we could

Packing it gently for the walk down the hill.

Descent into winter

These days

Falling into hushed calm

Of mornings lingering

And afternoons brief.

I cannot say

Those fearful words

We’re done

And yet you persist

And I find you there.

Find me again

Along the river

Starved for rain

As I gather the last memories

As fast as I can.

Swinging through the tailout on a river starved for rain under an incessant sun.
Swinging through the tailout on a river starved for rain under an incessant sun.
Early December is here and, save for the fleeting days, it could as well be late October.
Early December is here and, save for the fleeting days, it could as well be late October.

Night terrors

Waking into darkness

A dream lingers

Disturbed and unwanted.

.

A dream like spilled milk

Across a table

Soaking into linen.

Never undone.

.

Instantly, everywhere, spilling milk.

Now part of this,

A moment unchosen.

.

Beginning easy,

Then running and

Pouring rampant

Into nameless unease.

.

Dream dripping onto floor

Spreading and soaking.

Waking me.

A memory uncontrolled.

.

A fear pushing inside,

In darkness.

Asleep, powerless, unable.

.

Everywhere, or just somewhere,

A fear spreading

Inside, outside,

And, finally, into my bones.

Unseen.

.

This is the dream

Born instantly into a waking memory

I never lived.

In the hushed darkness,

A terror meticulously unwrapped.

.

Or, reluctantly,

Fear buried deeply:

Real and decidedly unseen.

.

Downpour Priorities

Sudden rain moves across our conversation

Out the café window.

My eyes turn round,

Following the watery sheets,

Or dreaming again.

.

I feel your eyes on my face

Yet I don’t turn to see,

Held, instead, by wet passersby.

Except from the corner I can feel

How deeply you can look.

.

And I can’t turn now, fearful

Break your gaze, then what?

But I should, easy enough

Forgetting fears vanish simply

when faced

So why not now?

.

Now?

Before I realize I missed it all.

.

What did you see?

See me missing it all?

Ha!

.

Watched rain rolls away

Down across the field,

Quiet again.

Sitting on a Rock in Late October

Find me along the river

Dreaming in golden afternoons

Telling of long summers

Not yet ended.

Find me holding you there

Lightly to a touch

We tell all those things

Seen along the way.

Will you still be here

With springtime?

April showers perhaps?

And scurry for cover

Under the mossy rock ledge?

Will you show me those places

Only you might see

on a starry night?

Maybe, then, we might forget

consuming our time.

What is this time?

How we found little blue flowers

Did you see them?

Hidden among the drying grass.

Or were you dreaming

While I crouched to trace

Little furrows in the sand

Casting long shadows

On a late October afternoon.

Emerald Velvet

A golden maple leaf

While falling

Tells the story

Of Spring, Summer, Autumn.

Dropping on yesterday’s wind,

Beneath clouds hanging low

Clouds hiding more mountains behind.

Soft hiss of light rain on water,

This river now whispers winter.

Down here

A quiet singing surrounds

Sounding like

Emerald velvet sliding

Over little slate pebbles.

The Wonderful Life of Cobblestones

Always afterwards.

And, with a pause,

A recognition,

Smack dab in the middle.

This is it!

Then returning,

Ascending maybe,

Into this intensely focused moment.

All around,

Quiet work takes place.

All these things, for now,

Hushed and hurried

In a purposeful way.

Everywhere there is movement.

And it’s just a moment

Passing too soon.

Finding grace

Breakfast with a side of grace, please

These things would have blackened

Like little drops of blood

Sprinkled in a flowerpot.

Becoming festering blisters

Across a life already too beautiful.

I would not have walked away happy.

Because you explained to me, gently,

In the most gracious way you could.

And I want to hear “Not yet”

And I cradle this idea in deep satisfaction.

As if something was won.

Because I know how to play it well.

Maybe I should think “never”

And hold this idea.

Because I do not understand

The full beauty of this life.

Not now. Not yet. Maybe never.

And in all of this,

I wandered upon something that I lost a long time ago.

Something forgotten almost, but still hoped for.

A friend tells me this is success.

And across a thousand years this is what I wanted.

This is what was forgotten.

Just that chance to be true.

No more than that.

Just that chance to be beautiful.

To shine on those flowers

In the only way I knew.

Yes that’s what I hoped for.

Outside,

The wind stirs the sand, uncovering those old dreams.

Those simple dreams buried deep in the flower pot.

The flowers there, now blooming so bright,

As the flowers gently sway in the wind,

How was I to know

That I would walk away fulfilled?

Steelhead Birthplace – A Geologic Poem (working draft)

[notes – trying to convey the notion that salmon and steelhead in the Pacific have largely evolved alongside the earth’s most dynamic landscapes – the Pacific Rim – this country beaten, shaken and falling apart is home to these great fish – I just wanted to get some preliminary thoughts down and work through it for awhile – much better reading than a journal article!]

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All along the coast

Great mountains rise

Up from Oceans

Falling from volcanoes

Rainier, Hood, Shasta

Just a few

And all those little creeks

Collecting water from the ocean

Pushing mountains back to the sea

Returned to their birthplace

Atop mountains carved by glaciers

Covered in lava

Shaken by earthquakes

Landslides, floods and droughts

Such a brittle country

Who would ever find a home

Here?

That little creek,

Here today

Going away with the mountain

Some great geologic clock

Returning all to the sea

Then upheaved, scraped and shaken again

And again from before our time

To well past our place

Who would ever be here?