Ravens
Can the ravens hear poetry in the gray wind or sighs in the night?
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Fernhill Winter: Geese on Ice
On a winter visit to the Fernhill Wetlands in Forest Grove, Oregon, ice covered the lake, thick enough to support a crowd of Canada geese. The breeze did not allow a leisurely contemplation of the scene; the morning blew hard through me and left me empty of thought or feeling or desire. I moved quickly through the landscape, leaning like the cattails bent by wind. ♨
Summer Dawn
In the coolness of dawn, before the heat melts night’s calm, the superlative colors of sky break across morning as the marshes embrace another day.
A hike in deep woods
A short poem on hiking: One foot in front, then the other.
On the ranch in 1980
1980 we spent the entire year, all twelve months, on the avocado ranch. It was our magical time in paradise. We were alive then with youth, not quite knowing how happy we were.
Found Poetry: My Earliest Publications
I recently came across my earliest publications, a collection of forgettable poems that made their way into several small literary journals.
Solidly out of touch
With a little sip of coffee and a big swig of delight I would mix you with my grounds, tell you what I’ve found as you worm your way inside my dogbeatened heart.