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Saturday, April 22, 2017

Where have all the Bloggers Gone?

It was as though 
the Santa Ana winds 
came suddenly 
in the night 
so that in the morning 
I sneezed
and again
the warm air
now alive 
pollen 
and whatever 
more
yet the 
stilled air 
the mountains
like 
one of those 
super realism paintings
the spine of LA
with the march of peaks 
holding back 
the onslaught of sand
the Mojave beyond
we nestled on this side
the Pacific
holding us at bay
and all those writers
poets and artists 
for years at the break
of dawn
tapping their hearts out
filling their blogs
for who?
they only hoped
an audience?
awaiting the words
to spill over 
as the coffee brewed 
we had our favorites
always open for 
just one more
the mundane 
made holy 
as minds reached out
for kindred spirits
to share the moment
a place in time 
this time
our time
on this mote
of rock
we call Earth
then someone blinked 
who? I don’t know 
but time caught up
with some
as if a cane
excused one so
others never held
onto anything for long
so letting go
for them
was as natural
as it is 
for me
to hold on tight.


Thursday, April 20, 2017

That Day

The foot slipped
off the rocks 
with gravity 
to blame
for the twist
and the limp
that followed
down the mountain
divided the moments 
with tiny blue 
and yellow flowers
in bloom 
the shade beneath
the pine and fir
cooled the breeze
between winces
then a large boulder
edging the creek 
provided a respite 
as the boot was unlaced
the sock pulled 
icy water
numbed the twist 
as he caught
a glimpse 
he thought
a brook trout? 
the mazy lines
olive green?
red spots with
blue halos
then gone
as his eyes
rested   
a garden of bracken 
the other side
and only later
did he discover 
a dried fern frond
a fiddlehead
in his knapsack 
the only proof 
he had left
of that moment
from a long ago
summer day.

Thursday, January 19, 2017

If You Prefer

It was during that walk
in the woods 
or if you prefer
a forest
alone and just
sunlight streaming
to a mottled earth
of green ferns 
and a rocky path 
and the breeze 
was so that 
it enveloped me 
with a kindness 
of warmth 
until I paused 
to sit atop a fallen 
sugar pine 
and was struck 
by myself 
and a beetle 
on the log
I watched and wondered 
so exquisite a creature 
could be alone too 
but now we two
and the warm breeze 
on a mountain 
and I looked 
then on hands and knees
followed that beetle 
climbing that felled tree 
and it struck me 
that he may have been
guilty to the act 
a descendant of the party
that fed on and stressed 
that towering pine 
so that one day 
it gave up
and laid itself to rest
and now I stared 
an hour or so
until tears
flowed 
with euphoric
joy
to be graced 
by God
and that moment
so long ago
forever is
my touchstone
for this thing
called life.