Tuesday, March 10, 2015

wind in the grass



Creative Commons License
wind in the grass

I am hungry.

I want to look.

              To look somewhere

in summer grasses

                             undulating

to the next ridge

to the long coast ─

                             breakers surging

              then falling back

whole again

to a place

where need

or lust

yes, hunger


demands my presence.



I will occasionally post some recent poems here. Please respect the Creative Commons attribution.

Saturday, March 7, 2015

some silliness


This afternoon there was a ruckus in my neighborhood. I encountered a “marching band” oom pah pahing and banging drums…suddenly they went around the corner to a house nearby and started playing….a bit out of tune…a rousing version of Happy Birthday to a surprised recipient. Lots of laughing, everyone getting into a festive mood. Unfortunately, I did not have my camera, as I was coming back from a board meeting. But, it reminded me of another type of frivolity last weekend at the old Mint where the historical society was holding an open house for all the neighborhood history groups. This trio was singing out across the City with a Victorian joy that was better musically, but still a lot of fun. Just a reminder to me of how serious life can seem if you don’t make time for some silliness. Loved it.

Thursday, February 26, 2015

a meander in Spring


Winter doldrums, a bout with the flu and a few busy days have dominated this month. Even the inspiration to write or photograph has been very limited and almost non-existent. Yesterday, as I strolled the neighborhood for some exercise, I stopped by a community garden a few blocks from my house to check on the season. Lots of beautiful winter kinds of food stuffs…chard and broccoli and a hint of spring in the blossom of the cherry tree at the edge of the garden. As I sort of half-heartedly meandered through the plots, an amazing little row of bright blossoms said essentially, “snap out of it”. Nice to be jolted into the reality of a glorious change of seasons.

Saturday, January 24, 2015

repetitive, but joyful


January seems to be a fresh burst of spring with the temperatures in the 60’s, the sun almost painfully bright. As I took a photo of the blooming street trees near my house it seemed strangely déjà vu. So, I went back to this week in previous years in my photos. Sure enough, year after year after year, I have photographed gloriously blooming street trees in this week of January. Well, I guess that is California in winter. Repetitive, but joyful.

Sunday, January 4, 2015

stomp, stomp


Outside the local laundromat where a young mother was doing laundry, her little boy was dancing and singing again and again: It’s a beautiful day….then stomp, stomp… It’s a beautiful day…stomp, stomp. Such joy. Probably something he is learning in his kindergarten. An hour later, I am simply consumed by the melody It’s a be-u-ti-ful day. Seven notes, then stomp, stomp. Thanks, kid.


No photo available, so I thought this photo from the Carnaval parade represented his joy.

Thursday, January 1, 2015

at the first sense


A brilliantly clear and bright morning to start the New Year. This was the coldest morning of winter for us so far. Not much compared to other parts of the world, but noticeable for the creatures and humans who are in the out of doors today. I loved the attitude of this sweet bird….its song attracted me to the bare branch where it was perched. The rose hips in the background are a fine reminder of the year past. And then, I saw the slight bulges on this enormous rose bush waiting to leaf out at the first sense of Spring. A fitting sighting for the first day of the year. Happy New Year to you and I hope that you are warm wherever you are.

Sunday, December 21, 2014

light of existence


The shortest day/longest night in the Northern Hemisphere is a time for rebirth and hope. A time of introspection, not darkness. Each day for the next six months we will have a bit more light.

I just spent a wonderful week with two loving, brilliant and generous members of my family on the storm-tossed beach and in the forests of far-northern California. This was a year of loss and change for all of us. But, out of this time with them, I realized the real result was gaining more of the light of existence.

Deep in the woods on the edge of a true wilderness, my nephew shared a special stream and surrounding grove that was a refuge for him during times of near overpowering grieving and loss these past months. We stood together in silence. The grove had the power of a holy place. As we walked across the bridge, we saw that someone had written on the railing: "Rest in Peace Ashley” with a date indicating a loss this year of a young person: a sacred place for others.


The photo is looking across the Siskiyou Wilderness.