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Category Archives: Poetry

Sangre de Cristo–Summer of Fire

Red sunrise over Sheep Mountain

Sangre de Cristo,
blood red against the sky,
smoky crimson sunrise
illuminates the dry

and murky landscape,
grey haze that turns to pink,
and throws a rosy glow
to make night’s shadows sink.

Mountains rise ephemeral,
magic light against their rock,
a brief illumination
shows their beauty with a shock.

of this pink and hazy glow
wrought by fires in the south,
fire in the sky,
and fires bred by drought.

Flames that rise and roar
and eat all before their path,
nature and man’s doings
give way before their wrath.

We watch from distant fastness
as smoky fingers curl,
long tendrils reach with greed
to menace with their swirl,

and spread a grim grey threat
to make us tear and choke.
We wear a gauzy veil
of ash and haze and smoke.

It filters through our valleys
where grass stands stiff and dry,
where leaves hang low and thirsty
beneath this pall of sky.

Tales now come to haunt us
of flames that leave a stark
and ancient calling card,
borne aloft by wind and spark.

We watch and wait and fret
that such could be our fate,
while distant matches flare,
in a tinderbox, we wait.

Such thoughts all disappear
with wonder and with awe,
as sunrise works its alchemy,
paints the country with a raw

and glowing pinkwash,
with a brief and fleeting dye.
Sangre de Cristo,
blood red against the sky.

Red sunset over Battle Mountain

 

 
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Posted by on August 22, 2020 in Nature and Wildlife, Poetry

 

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Derecho

 

And they call the wind

Derecho–intense, wide-spread

fast-moving windstorms

 


 
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Posted by on June 6, 2020 in Events, Nature and Wildlife, Poetry

 

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Border collies on the job

bringing ewes up for shearing

 

 

Daughter and mother,
my right-hand canine duo—
Cora and Sadie.

 
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Posted by on May 7, 2020 in Animals, Dogs, Poetry, Sheep

 

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On the Road Again

ewes heading south through Cow Creek

 

 

And I can’t wait to get on the road again
On the road again –
Like a band of gypsies we go down the highway
We’re the best of friends
Insisting that the world keep turning our way

from Wille Nelson’s tune

looking forward to shearing, lambing and green grass!

And I can’t wait to get on the road again
On the road again

 
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Posted by on April 21, 2020 in Animals, Poetry, Sheep

 

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God’s opinion

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A baby is God’s opinion that life should go on. Never will a time come when the most marvelous recent invention is as marvelous as a newborn baby. The finest of our precision watches, the most supercolossal of our supercargo planes don’t compare with a newborn baby in the number and ingenuity of coils and springs, in the flow and change of chemical solutions, in timing devices and interrelated parts that are irreplaceable.

 
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Posted by on April 18, 2020 in Animals, Cattle, Poetry

 

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Surprise!

 

Welcome to the world
twin calves, surprising their mom,
a first calf heifer.

 
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Posted by on April 9, 2020 in Animals, Cattle, Poetry

 

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Merry March

 

Still Christmas in March—
Sparkling trees cast colored cheer,
Cords buried in snow!

 
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Posted by on March 8, 2020 in Poetry

 

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Winter Wildlife

moose on the highway near Battle Mountain

 

 

Winter-time wildlife,
seeking shelter from the storm—
Will spring ever come?

moose at a crossroad

Antelope on the high desert steppe

antelope near Slater

 
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Posted by on February 15, 2020 in Animals, Nature and Wildlife, Poetry

 

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Saint Francis of Ladder Ranch

Saint Francis of Ladder Ranch

 

Poor St. Francis,
he never knew such outrage in Italy:
Patron Saint of the Ladder Ranch,
animals, and the natural world.

His statue stands guard in our yard,
watching over birds, even the grouse,
the eagles, the robins, and it seems,
ravens, crows and magpies.

He looks out for cattle, sheep,
horses, dogs, and those wild critters.
our children.
He sees deer, elk, antelope.

St. Francis, please care for
the bats, the bees, and butterflies—
maybe not mosquitoes!
No patron saint for them.

So here stands his likeness,
concrete birds upon his fist.
In summer, actual bird poop
paints stigmata hands and feet.

But now, in the depths of winter,
in cold winds and drift
poor Francis stoically endures,
waist-deep in snow-white robes.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
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Posted by on February 7, 2020 in Animals, Nature and Wildlife, Poetry

 

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Nevermore

 

A murder of crows

seek treats from scrappy garbage

thinking corvid thoughts

 
 

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