Category Archives: Poetry/Fiction
Night Quince
Amargosa Range
My crooked little tooth
falls out Continue reading Amargosa Range
End of January
the hills were such wet emerald Continue reading End of January
Central Freeway
Tent city under the exit ramp Continue reading Central Freeway
Morning Mirror
skin echoes Continue reading Morning Mirror
When Pan Met Quan-yin
She left the dragon lazing in the water in near Elephant Rock; sated on seals and pelicans, he would stay mostly submerged and wouldn’t make any trouble. As long as those bird watchers didn’t come poking around like last time. But no one ever believed what they claimed to see anyway.
Continue reading When Pan Met Quan-yin
Death Drives a Green Truck
Death doesn’t dress in black and wear a hood
Death drives a green truck
And my black dog growls
every time she sees him.
Continue reading Death Drives a Green Truck
Last Days in the Laguna
In high school and college I enjoyed writing poetry, but almost never showed my work to anyone. Typical, I’m sure, and not showing it to anyone was undoubtedly an excellent decision on my part! Lately I’ve been reading more poetry, and the urge to try writing some has surfaced again. And this time, I’m just going with the flow.
This one was inspired by the last two weeks of living in Sebastopol and doing our morning walk in the Laguna de Santa Rosa Preserve. Laika and I had been walking there for years now, and I realized during that time that I had enormous grief over leaving that. During those last two weeks, I saw amazing things that I’m still grateful for.
I posted an earlier, even more ostentatious version on Facebook a while back, but I think I’ve improved it here. Still, a little embarrassing.
Last Days in the Laguna
Cattle Egrets, Wild Turkeys, Collared Doves,
and me.
The invasive species know this landscape
better than I.
It rains.
Valley Oaks take a long drink, their leaves open and stretch.
We are ALIVE!
A willow goes too far;
Drunken trees fall down.
New Moon.
The trees drip tears onto the water
Each drop sending rings out over the surface
They intersect, mingle, move on
Everything else is impossibly still.
A flock of blackbirds splits in two;
the falcon misses,
flies into the tree and glares.
I trespass beyond the barbed wire
to see the Wood Ducks.
A splash…river otter!
And then another, and then there are six
Making their weird noises
Moving from land to water
Navigating the murky depths with ease.
Everything you do, otter, looks like play
But what can a spirit who dives so deeply know of play?
The kingfisher rattles like dry bones
The wild rose hips grow red and heavy
and the blackbirds sound like a rusty spring
on a screen door in Ohio,
swinging shut on a green sky and the sound of thunder.
In the distant trees,
A blaze of white in morning sun: bald eagle.
They say that an elder is one
whose heart has broken open to let out the medicine inside.
But eagle, your medicine is better than mine.