Posts for 2025 (page 12)

Washed down from ancient mountains
Agates, slate, geodes, flint, sandstone, limestone
Criniods and other fossils from a shallow Devonian sea
Tumble and churn downstream for millions of years

Agates, slate, geodes, flint, sandstone, limestone
Gather on gravel bars, which shift and with every heavy rain
Tumbled and churned for millions of years
Peppered with civilization – stone tools, broken bricks, plastic, Mt. Dew cans

Gathered on gravel bars, which shift with every hard rain
Red, yellow, black and blue, bumpy and smooth- the sparkle of quartz
Peppered with civilization- broken cement, metal,  glass, cigarette butts
Scooped up, trucked, uphill, to roads and driveways

Red, yellow, black and blue, bumpy and smooth- the sparkle of quartz
Crinoids and other fossils from a shallow Devonian sea
Scooped up, trucked, uphill, to roads and driveways
To be washed, again, from ancient mountains

They tell tales of a home place,

Which was here so long ago,

In what was once a clearing,

The “pineys” that now grow.

All that remains,

Where the flowers nod and bloom,

Is the old rock foundation,

And the spring house in the gloom.

There are bits of broken crockery,

That testify of use,

Near the cellar which fell in,

From neglect and not abuse.

An orchard inundated,

Now with brambles, briers and brush,

That once was full of laughter bright,

Now only knows the thrush.

A leaning post with hinges,

Marks where the gate once hung,

Upon which many children,

In spite of reprimands once swung.

And past the gate once stood a barn,

Now crumbled into loam,

The team and a milk cow,

Once called the place a home.

The only record of their being here,

To show for them now,

Some rusted shoes lost from the mules,

And a bell from the last cow.

What happened to the family,

Who once called the place their home?

What cause them to turn their backs on it,

To leave it and to roam?

Was it the ever steady march of progress,

Or the desire to have more?

Easier ways beyond the ridge top,

Beyond the cabin’s door?

Perhaps a world weary doughboy,

Came back to his family,

And couldn’t stay upon the farm,

After having seen Paree.

It’s likely that he never dreamed,

That there would come a day,

That his children’s children’s children,

Would long for the home place far away.

A longing now for simpler days,

And far simpler times,

For a cabin, barn, and spring house,

And some “pineys” in the pines.

Note: In the part of Kentucky from which I’m from, peonies are most often pronounced “pineys” or at least they were pronounced that way by the old folks when I was a boy.

We were raised
as men
to be strong
the only acceptable emotion
anger. Joy, melancholy, fear
all off limits.
“Don’t cry son.”
“Oh he’s so tough.”
What if I don’t want to be?
What if I’m just a snail
a soft mollusk
who built a tough shell
to hide the vulnerability inside?
The same armor that protects
weighing me down
restricting my movement and growth.
When anger is all you’re allowed
it grows and grows
to contain multitudes.
The path channeled out
so deep
that no matter where you direct
the flooding emotion
it only has one path to follow.
Anger is so demonized
it is not seen as multifaceted
but a negative thing only.
Yet
it might hide longing
regret
and when you are so inundated with it
frustration, annoyance, aggravation
are all different levels
recognized by others as the same
“You’re mad.”
This feedback loop
the incorrect labeling of the box
we’re often placed in as men
generates the same result anyway.
When I see my boys cry
over the silliest things
and jump up and down
excitement scarcely contained
when they cuddle up to me
or they ask for a kiss, a hug
when they apologize for causing hurt
I see the tides a changin’.
Day by day
they’re refilling that deep, steep channel
cut out of me.
My shell in broken pieces on the ground.

Today all the things are going, gone that we’ve worked hard for all our lives.

I’ll augur my day 

I have no name
today my name is Opal Bear Mother
Bear Mother Boogie 
Cloud Watcher Wind Rider
a name every day I become

The way I love you is impossible to describe

The sun forever chasing the moon

Sea water crashing upon the sand

Autumn leaves drifting to the ground

Devoted

Stars twinkling against the black night sky

Petals stretching in spring air

Snow dancing across frozen ground

Fated

Water leaping into the arms of a pond

Sunlight kissing blades of sweetgrass

Soft wind whispering sweet nothings to the trees

Reverent

The way I love you is inevitable

As though it was in my nature

it rest folded  just so
when I lift it from the arm I tell myself to note its shape
this gentle drape means something
so I take it up with care  cover the shivering limbs
and feel my heart reach out a bit further
tenderly attentive to this borrowed place

When you tighten under pressure,

know valves are meant to release.

There are a million tender cells

begging to loosen your grip.

It’s easy to forget, how much easier it may be

to follow the pumping thumping beat.

Consciousness sees
what the sand crab sees
with its two little beady eyes
atop antennae 

The sand crab gives
what it sees to God
and God, without hesitation,
whispers Thank You