I am interested
in the entanglements,
the implied next steps,
the adjacencies.

One step left or right
into the blackberry brambles
and multiflora rose
and the browse.

That is where
the mess flourishes
and the meaning scratches
and feeds.

May your losses
be borne up,
lifted by a kite
that they
may fly on.
Let the string

Hermetic Sunday Morning

As below, so above.
We all live in
the ruins of the future
and the chaos of eternity.
As above, so below.

Having fun with Pixlr ( Jammed together lyrics from Frank Sinatra with Wilco: "Blue Skies, Sky Blue Sky"

Blue skies, smiling at me.
Nothing but blue skies
Can I see.
I should be satisfied.
I survived.
That's good enough
for now.

Lightning’s never over!
It will make a believer of us
growling from light to sound
bearing down on us with a
'now what Hallelujah,
a 'Saul on the road to Damascus ‘what now’.
the ground hears witness to reason
a souffle of unreason,
a meal fit for the transfixed.

A to a comment poem from @dogtrax here:

and obsolete,
extinct as the word "obsolete".
What is coming?
What is bearing down?
I hear it coming.
I hear it bearing down.
I ask,
"Now what?"
Afterwards I ask,
"What now?"
Or should I have asked them
t'other way round?

Working out loud here with a post on how to evolve a poem:


on a window sill

on its back.


No iridscence

only brittle,



clear wings,


And all I can


is a poem

and a picture

and maybe you.


It is coming a hard frost in May.
So hard to have hope
when you are walking away from this garden,
when you have covered
the tomatoes
and peppers
and all the vulnerable things
with every available sheet.
This cold world snaps hope
like a twig underfoot,
heedless as a god,
a reckoning unreckoned.

A dealing with the indifference and difference of the natural world:

Teacher Lamentations

I pay them with points.
I pay what the market will bear.
I pay what I want.
It's a debt incurred
That cannot be repaid.
Time stolen
is irredeemable
in any known scrip.
How is this
trespass fair?
It ain't.

Spring--->haiku season

One fine cold winter evening

this city boy

working on a dairy,

walked down to the milk tank

in the January dark.

The electric lines

sang and snapped

in the cold

as I greedily skimmed

the cream from the tank

for next morning's breakfast.

Until that moment

walking home

I did not know one thing.

I thought I knew many things,

but they all had condensed like cream

into one moment.

Now I knew one thing

and then I knew nothing.

inspired by @ggevalt

Zero dead o'clock.
Walked out in the yard
to the siren of coyotes
along the creek
in their whelping dens.
Stars in the clear black sky.
Then it started to rain.
Sweet pelting drops.
Just another glorious mystery
in a life
filled every day
with neck-deep riddles.

This Ludic Shuffle

Blankets of air,



then cool.

Drafts of night air

on the back of my neck

come and go 

as I walk to the field

to check our lambs.


Had I not become a shepherd,

I would never have known this

nearly mute touch,

this unflattened topographic map,

this ludic shuffle.

Coloring inside the lines,
words basking and safe inside our tiny text boxes,
We are fish in a barrel,
a turkey without a calendar on Thanksgiving eve,
and helpless on the verge
of knowing it.
What does it mean to be human?
What does it mean to wear a hat?
These questions weigh the same on the scales?
I guess
it all depends on
where you put the fulcrum,
if you can be said to have a choice.

A ram lamb
a bottle
so warm,
so warm.
His story
like his little body
draped over me.

A to @dogtrax 's response to my poem

in the cold,
witch hazel
and died.
Deep in the earth
it says,
"I have been known to return."

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