Friday, May 5, 2017

Blue Eyes

Maybe seven years old. Up before dawn, low gray sky, with Dad and my two brothers, We pile into the car to see a solar eclipse. Peer through polarized film. The sun more like a quick phasing moon headed new. And the ever-after image of dad's eyes's. His ring.

Thursday, May 4, 2017

Tuesday, May 2, 2017

Desert Bloom

OK. OK. This is last schmaltzy desert poem.
Goes to my Mary Oliver bad imitation phase.
I'm over it. I promise.

Fiat Lux

One of the few surviving photos from my solo on the Back Forty Ranch.
One of the best.

Desert Sage

Yes, a romanticism that in retrospect is a wee overdone (wince :)
Yet true to that time almost two decades ago, living alone on a mountain top. Seeking.
Think, "Walden" with out the pond, or as my younger brother said-
The Unabomber without the bomb.


An Ars Poetica written about seventeen years ago on the Back Forty Ranch, long before I knew what an Ars Poetica was. Seventeen years later this poem's meaning remains mystery to me. 
Seventeen years later, that mystery still compels.