The Fence

How did she get here?
She walked...walked toward the fence.
It's the one constant.

There's always a fence.

She came alone. Swept along

with the refugees.

 




Maybe an orphan -
but no one knows for certain.
She stands by the fence.

Waiting. She watches.

Expecting someone to come

from across the fence.

Little refugees
grow up waiting by the fence...
older and angry.

They survived a lot.

So now they stand by the fence.

Waiting...

for something.

From Writer's Cramp @ Wordpress

This Broken Land

This is a broken land.

Cracks and crevices, some unseen, lead down

deep into the sand and ash

that make up our vision of Earth.

 

 

 

 

This is our rift valley -- like Africa's open wound

but ours is almost hidden from view.

Time and the desert are relentless.

But if you look -- and you see -- there are clues

 

.

Apache Tears lie in the sand like glass eyes.

Pompeii and Herculaneum were caught by surprise

but no one felt the same heat here...so long ago.

No one heard the roar or saw the rush of fire and ash.

 

The sleeping caldera is a playground now

but once it filled the sky with hell fire.

The heat still warms the hot springs where

we try to relax....newcomers playing with fire.

From Writer's Cramp @ Wordpress

So Now Comes the Wind

So now comes the wind --
Our winter's downhill neighbor
testing the hinges.

From beyond, somewhere
in a distant mountain place,
it comes to life.

It finds its power --
it scours the dead and dying --
it tries to take you.

But you bow your head.
You divert your swollen eyes.
It passes over.

A born acrobat,
Tumbleweed pulls up her skirts
and scatters her seeds.

It takes what it wants
leaving man and beast behind
tumbling into Spring.

From Writer's Cramp @ Wordpress

Ghost Birds

 

 

 

Cranes, lost to our sight

in the sun drenched sky above,

call out sad farewells.

 

 

 

 

They'll be back next fall

to do it all once again.

The bosque awaits.

 

Tattletale Chronicles - Winter and Late Fall

 

The wind driven rain

Sneaks under the door unseen.

The cat has wet paws

 

*   *   *

 

 

 

 

Cranes call from below -
A croaking frog-like song.
They fly off unseen.

 

 

 

 

 

*   *   *

 

 

 

 

Drama at dawn ends...

Hawk's talons clutch a quail.

Fat hare saw it all.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

*   *   *

 

 

 

 

 

Coyote watches.

Sunless day with crunching snow

- Sleet pecks at her face.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

*   *   *

 

 

 

 

 

Jackrabbit escapes-

Limping through the dry saltbush.

He had a close call.

 

 

 

 

 

*   *   *

 

 

From Writer's Cramp @ Wordpress

Autumn Wind

Howling, relentless
wind - roaring in from the north
penetrates my bones.

Where is it going?

It's in a hurry and wants

to take me along.

Dust flies in the air
obscuring the mountain views.
The world turns dull gray.

Like a steeplechase,

Tumbleweeds race each other

to some finish line.

Quail crouch in the sage.

We are thankful for shelter

on these windy days.

 

 

 

 

From: Writer's Cramp @ Wordpress

It will bide its time

(Volcanoes Trilogy)

The story begins.
A seed falls in a crevice --
that could be the end.

But it is deep down --
not destined to be eaten.
It will bide its time.

Winds blow and snow falls.
It is a living thing and
it will bide its time.

Sun scorches, fire burns,
It is lieing protected.
in its deep repose.

Ash and dust blow in.
Rain falls -- the stones shed water
into its crevice.

The seed awakens.
What bad fortune placed it there?
How can it survive?

It bursts its hard shell
and sends out tentative roots.
Time is critical.

A toehold is gained
and soon it secures its own place
deep among the rocks.

A shoot, a small leaf,
and a thorny twig appear
reaching for the light.

Conditions are right.
A little rain and sunlight
is good - not too much.

So many things could
go wrong - but it is alive
and it will bide its time.

An accident of
placement and sheer persistence
brought it this far.

Adversity and
determination combined
with fortune win out.

Life is very hard.
Not all struggles end this way.
It's good that some do.

Xantico's Daughters

(Volcanoes Trilogy)

 

 

 

 

This place is fire born --

of riven stone and sulfur -

smoke and flying ash.

 

Xantico’s daughters,

Vulcan's spawn – the Three Sisters

bide their time alone.

 

 

 

Visitors are few.

Unnoticed, they bear witness

and will keep secrets.

 

Only the soft breeze

and solitary footsteps

disturb the quiet.

 

“Who is this pilgrim?

What quest brings you here today?”

I come seeking peace.

 

 

 

This desert, blessed by

rain from the south, is transformed.

Once brown, but now green.

 

 

 

This place of beauty

is now dressed in flowers but

just for a few days.

 

 

“A place of beauty?

...Ah, yes - we remember you.

You’ve been here before.”

 

 

 

I will be quiet.

I will not disturb your rest.

Your secrets are safe.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Who is to say now?

Who is to say now
what questions remain unasked?
Our time came and went.

The years filled our days
with so much to remember.
Such joy to recall.

We were of one mind.
One soul. No pain between us.
No regretful days.

So how can this be?
What unfulfilled yearning now?
Were you happy then?

Her smiling eyes say “yes”.
And our spirit hearts rejoice
even now with love

The Promise of Rain

Low distant thunder.
Winds blow the curtain and bring
the sweet scent of pine.

We are teased at first
but the desert clouds relent.
Raindrops fall on sand.

Up on the far hill
Carlos Rey stands desert watch
and waits for the rain.

The old Juniper
outlived his sons and daughters
born in distant days.

Raindrops and thunder -
Carlos Rey shakes in the wind.
and drinks it all in.

On the Death of a Friend

My dear neighbor died.
His departure was too soon.
He left a huge hole.

I knew him one year.
I enjoyed every minute
We spent together.

Gone. Unexpected.
He left us in disbelief -
How could this happen?

So the brightness dimmed.
So we grieve. But we push on
Enriched by his life.


Remember the man.
The husband. The grandfather.
Dog walker. Our friend.

Fire down below

The forest consumed
by fire-blackened, molten stone
pouring from earth's wound.

The wound slowly heals
but leaves scabs of knife-edge rock.
The wind brings new life.

Moondance

Moonrise. Mountain wall.
The moon and mountain dance in
an ageless ballet

Buddy the Quail

He calls to me now -
a quail is my companion.
I've been adopted.

If I go outside
my little friend seeks me out
Sun, wind, a bird calls

Buddy wants a girl
and tried his best to woo one -
but time marches on.

The Trumpet Flower

Trumpet flower calls
and the hummingbird responds
the moon sees it all

Haiku-isms -- Old Haiku and a new Blog: A 2008 Road Trip

So...this is how I pass the time on a long solo road trip.

I find myself making solo road trips sometimes these days and have been trying to find ways to occupy my drive time -- listening to music or maybe an audio book works but even that gets old. So I've invented a mental past-time called Haiku-isms. I try to come up with a short description of a sight or a place or an experience in the form of Haiku. Some of it happens after the fact - on reflection. I don't drive very far each day so I have time to work these out and sometimes they are pretty crude and I have to go back and 'fix' them.....but that is part of the exercise too, I guess.
Here is an example (sort of cleaned up) from a couple late winter trips west in 2008.....not exactly Kerouac...


I head west to spring
Torn trees tell a tale of woe
A toll booth is next

I find what I seek
The seasons change in Tulsa
Plum trees in blossom

Oklahoma sucks
The wind propels - the blades turn
Electrons line dance

Soft bed and road noise
Someone locks a door nearby
Motel room at night

Abundant cow pies
Land of sun baked bovine art
Welcome to Texas

Cityscapes fade fast
Caddy Ranch reeks of fresh paint
Much remains to see

This place has nine lives
Burque wants them all at once
Albuquerque naps

Local time seems stuck
Atomic age relics glow
Route sixty-six shines

The desert shows bright
All roads lead to empty space
The river flows by

Coronado's camp
Bernalillo lives its past
My view takes it in

Clouds drift in blue skies
Shadows cross the mountain wall
as they always have

Ancient wisdom lives
Ruins mark the way they came
The padres brought change

Old Taos charms me
The blood of Christ surrounds me
A fish in my net

Santa Ana stars
They act like they own the place
That’s because they do

Desert storm rages
Instant mud from windblown rain
makes it hard to drive

The trip home looms now
Time flies when you're having fun
The road goes both ways