I saw you pluck a piece of sapling from the hills
A present, I don’t know,
A sun-scorched story,
A tale
A massive ambience of the liquid time.
But the manner you beheld it
Like you could see through its bare bones,
If you lick up the juice, now and then.
Long long before long ago, Earth
Was originally set within a koru
Unfurling at every antlike moment
Directly towards the sun, until
Now it is too overloaded
With evil spirits & viruses
To continue revolution as it
Tries to return to itself
Many selves,
a raging fire, a sparkling chasm.
viper slithers to its apogee – the sun –
almost succeeds, almost destroys –
I am justified in brevity, breathing
as I, come face to face,
and so it is – angry souls in each other’s bodies –
while August burns treacherously
in the dry grasses.
Boy leaves tracks. Life trudges.
Brooding, endorsing the searing sun,
Can’t close the seed captured here,
die brother…live sister….
no distress or bitterness or revenge –
merely randomness that
divides itself unmercifully
The orange ranunculus
dropped its petals
like a soft feather war—
a dead fire bird,
a phoenix on the ground,
smooth still like the milk
puddles, lining the sink.
They boiled a thing
and it remained,
like homesickness
like depression, like ants
coming in from the rain.
1) keep listing main bankrollers destroying Nature: boycott
2) advocate “ignorance-based world view” a la Wes Jackson and Wendell Berry: elaborate
& celebrate
3) UCS clubs @ colleges and universities designing lively biology curricula pre-K thru PhD:
NO to gene splicing
4) support J. Hagelin proposals: no more cyclotrons
5) meditate on Higgs boson: don’t agitate it
6) separate good science from bad tech
7) unite good joyous science with diverse pagan religions
Read more "agenda"Sittin’ to the left of Gandhi
Peaceful intentions and all
Honolulu Zoo behind me
Girls playing volleyball
Beautiful ocean
Yet, the world burns in more ways than one
My wife in the water, with beautiful fish
Read more "Left of Gandhi"Can you see us through the gate? the Tutelo ask.
I sprayed it apple red last winter, aerosol in my lungs.
Must be more careful in the time of masks.
But the red. The red! You can see it a quarter mile away, walking up the lane.
Crooked door opening to a wide mossy bed of poplar and walnut.
Shadows bend into each other. Locust limbs rest on the lazy fence.
An old wooden coop, emptied years back by the fox, sits where the home place was.
One hundred years and one thousand acres: apple orchard.
The caretaker’s house, rows of seven sisters’ roses wild and pink still push out
At the spring house. Into the north pasture.
A cemetery of pushed grey stones at the corner.
Tiny round-faced vaquita porpoises,
dark-eyed mountain gorillas,
intricately striped Sumatran tigers,
so many species disappearing
under greed’s heavy boots
although the loss seems abstract
as we stop at Costco for groceries,
fill up the car before heading home.
Blast! over the last ridge before pasture. The great white sycamore shatters the oriole’s net-nest. An autumn olive catches the fledgling, embraces its beating heart. Singed by relentless summer, hills west waver/duck at the gale.
Read more "The Furies"Much must. Old nut bearers, leaf returners. Old man forest and his just sprung wife. I have faith in those wild orange day lilies and forsythia, but Black-eyed Susans and stargazers have fooled me before.
Read more "What Will Winter Over?"
Visitant 