snag denizen

eyes slit to the sun -

great horned owl basks
invisible by daylight

Creative Evolution

An evolving phenomenon is upon the scene

  creative evolution as its mean . . .

    for the seen is becoming more cluttered

      with artificial machines that flutter.

 

There goes "Festo" the flapping smartbird,

   and over here is SNARK...

     "the meanest VTOL UAV on the planet",

        hark, there goes a hummingbird nano flying vehicle.
 

Flying fish, bees and bugs in development,

  condors, eagles, darkstars and global hawks,

    predators, sea ferrets and dragonflys . . .

       there is no end of snooping machines.

 

All that watch in places once unseen,

  many that shoot... to kill and maim,

    and there are robotic crawlers for the darker places,

      robotic geckos and spiders, crawlers and worms.

 

The seen of the human scenes, broadens,

  as we expand the 'cene of the anthropocene

     to include endless possibilities, uncluttered

       by deliberations of ethics or druthers.

 

                                   --r.anderson   25Mar2011

www.fas.org /irp/program/collect/uav.htm

rattled

 
   smack up against the full moon  -

   you’ve seen night terrors
   before: another windy night

Want to play? Submit your poems of place about the Wallowa Country to livethelifeulove (at) yahoo.com .

Souciant saute

a handful of finely

  chopped onion bulbs

a sprinkle of sedum

a clawful of sliced couse

a few cattail corms

 sauteed and simmered

 seasoned with a

scamper of squirrel or

gobbets of gopher or

a crawling of crawdads
presented in a bed of spring blooms

  bighead clover, Tolmie's onion, yellow fritillary

and seasonal greens... montia, spring beauty

a feast...  fit for one who is part of the land.

                          r.anderson   15Mar2011 

sights

redwing roadsides, then a
flock of flickers at the gate
china pheasant cock in
the driveway, porch juncos
and an odd-eyed robin: and
in a dormant cottonwood
an urn of charcoal feathers
topped and tailed with white

mugwumping

caught in the spot just in between,
wiggling fiercely to get through the wires

the world tilts just enough but not quite -

on one side, all the faults and failures
on the other side, a missing rule book

take the wire cutters and make a snip -

the world may stay the same as it never was
it is supposed to be a choice, or so I've heard

Substrate

Substrate...  dirt, soil,

  the stuff from which life springs.

    enfertiled by worms 'n' bugs,

      stirred, fluffed, tilthed and tended.
 

I am your substrate

  and you are mine . . .

    else 'tis likely we never

      would share this realm, together.
 

And... what enfertilements do I bring

  to serve your growth... or you, mine?

    How much encrustedments must I chip away

      searching for the real, moisty fecundities.
 

Somebody has been pruning my growth

  with shoulds and shalls, do's and don'ts

     even my roots are nipped  and chopped

        with the sins of my grandfathers.
 

No wonder this garden is so subject

  to damping off, stunting, yellowing

    and weird shaped growths of bud and twig.

      How many hairy tendrils have I left?
 

'Tis merely amazing, what with cold

  and cloudy skies, wind and salt breeze,

    trimming, pruning and religious teachings

      that any growth can happen at all.
 

Ahhh... but Punxatawney Phil promised

  a return of sun and balmy climes...

    at least for a time... time enough to play

      and fatten... for the next long cold spell.
 

                                         r.anderson 10Mar2011 

a place for everything

a mosaic of wrongs and grief
and fears and anger makes -
not a very pretty place to live

they have their places, right
enough, yet mortar your heart
with stiff and stuck places

and then the mildew comes,
and you are not a place anyone
much wants to visit, let alone

you

you can keep them, yet be
sure to scatter in some of that
stuff grown ups don’t make

time for. play. and love-just-
because. and sweetness and
kindness, for that matter

and then the fading comes -
but it is all right, and everything
you never dreamed or feared

fugue for Japan and Wallowa County

thousands of miles away -- epic disaster!
all the fiddly things drop aside. everywhere
innocent ignorance and arrogance... and now
close to home, the grief, down to the bone.

there are so terribly many things to mend
and maybe they can't be. yet this is no time
to play deer in the headlights, say "screw it,
then," to turn off the news, or to turn aside.

so then what? what is the next strong
and courageous way to step up? late or not,
here history comes, maybe to your back yard.
where ever you are, hold out your hand.

Pilloring shibboleths . .

 .yep...   a really great tourista draw . . .

  for the artsi-fartsi village at the end of the road

soap-boxes for rent on divers street-corners

  for shirtless cowboys spouting poetry

    or bully pulpits for righteous wolf-baiters

       perhaps a bit of street theater with free muffins on the side

 

what better place to find a local county commissioner

  or under-employed military retirees

dipping deeply into the public coffers . . .

  perhaps there's even some local union

    suitable for bashing for all our local ills

       and of course we can always hang a few effigies

 

life is good in this far-away place

  where there are more elk than people

and the cattle out-number everything else put together

  just check our stream bottoms 

     and the picturesque canyons and plateaus

        scoured and plowed by private interests

 

                                           r.anderson   9Mar2011

self-inflicted injuries

it seems around here
a lot that we hear
becomes a parade...
and here are the rules.

catch the fresh-tossed
mind candy and rhetoric 

imported tax-free from Idaho.
gorge on it til you bust!

look! there's another
seduction of self-rightness
on the next street corner,
bait for a fresh customer.

for all this growling, whining,
and deathly howling.
join us, join us - the first
bite is absolutely free.

rites of a deferred spring

half an inch of mystery -
flake by flake - piles up
on the old fence post.
winter-weathered graze
goes white on white on white.

the old grey horse vanishes
from sight. it's just another
spring snow. out in the pasture
the bay mare stands out, tail
to the wind, ears pinned back. 

a deer trail cuts through
the unfaulted field, until
new snow covers over every
hoofmark. and step by step, 
the mystery melts. for now.

Morning coffee clatch/clutch . . .

Seemingly innocuous yet ritual strained

  morning gathers around hot java habits

conservatives sit back here

  ne'er-do-wells are over in this corner

oh... and that seat belongs to so and so

  but we won't tell you that,

    you're supposed to know.
 

Such dances around... sensitive topics

  wolves, indians, environmentalists,

lets simply agree to simply entrain,

  suck for empathic recruits, blathering.

And be careful of that guy...

  we all go silent as he enters,

     sometimes he doesn't follow the rules.

 

                    --r.anderson    9Mar2011 

Your Poem of Place Here

Of this Place - Wallowa Country is a community poetry blog. To submit your poems, send a note to livethelifeulove (at) yahoo dot com. Thanks for playing.

on tiptoes

good science like good religion is –
whoa, now there’s anathema! 
so let’s talk good politics instead.
wait, wait, I foresee a bar fight there!
even weather is hardly a safe topic
in country ripe for haymakers.

so thinking smaller: yet “are you well?”
and “oh fine” are symptomatic 
of larger ills – distrust, fear, wanting
to be liked.  so here’s a likely choice:
say nothing. or say, “has anyone
made up some good gossip for today?”

 

Whiskey Creek . . .

 

geese paired and tripleted off around this rivers pastures

  grazing afternoons newest grass after the snow melts off

often quiet these days as they look hard for secure nesting

  a pair of feral flighted white geese join our local Canadas

 

yesterday's travels yielded the spring's first

  beldings ground squirrel whistles from below-ground shelter

worrying about the state of hawks and foxes

  waiting above-ground for logy dozy hibernatees to show

 

red-winged blackbirds (all males of course)

  are gathered in early morning and afternoon clusters

telling each-other how wonderful the lengthening sun is

  and flashing faded scarlet epaulettes at the world for punctuation
 

                                         r.anderson   9Feb2011 

unseen worlds

unseen world
showing again!
the world's backside barely
draped in a tangle of stars



zg

wishfully unseen

early spring snowflakes

flutter down my backside

butt-crack putty, indeed

ralph

half sonnet for silence

for the first time the geese are silent
you can hear the grass making its slow way
to the heart of things; the dirt crumble
the itchy drip the rain makes, rock to rock
the underground quiver of a mole
the none-sound fire makes when it fails to ignite
the soft cracking of the next heart to break

for the last time the geese are silent

hayku

dirty bay mare

chasing the hay truck 

green to come

Between seasons kigo

the glass in splinters!
nothing half about it

spring snow contemplates departure

Listening to Lunasa

if flutes played your thoughts

what melodious prosody -

jazz or discord?

ZG

priapic pan-pipes 'pon cloven hooves

  the old forest gods springing

    to the early pulses on wild and scenic
 

steelhead bearing pulses

  bring dry-footed fishermen

    to flail local waters frothy
 

this morning's first dawn song

  faint tentative robin burbles

    followed by insistent goose chatter
 

ralph

Tree pose

hum-sahhhhh the breath -

fir trees model good yoga
practice wherever you go -

wherever they stay: shifting

Dirty Dawg News from Wallowa

weiners on the sofa

bigger dog butt stuck

suitable for humping

                                dirty dawg stink-eye

                                esp-eed 'till deer bark ina yard

                                rackity coons lurking in plums

ralph

Spring cleaning

open the window
the dust flies out or in


open the door
detritus flies in or out


open your heart
see what happens then

Canine TSA

old dog - headed for China --
the voles attempt to get there first
 

paws burrowing, burrowing

Sucker holes . . .

Even the news, started this day

..  with promises of "brief periods of sun"

It was true...  I blinked several times

..  to get the rain and sleet out of my eye...

 ...    and nearly missed my shadow, each time.
   

Portland, at least, got smarter

..  with a pavilion for the opening Saturday Market.

Though... I heard that Portlanders are prone

..  to hide from the sun even when it does happen.

...    "What's that bright thing in the sky?"
  

I'd even consider dropping bait in a sucker hole

..  but the ice is gone and steelheaders

...    are thrashing the river to a froth . . .

Isn't that one of those "higher orders of prayer"

..  conducted with a fishing rod in hand?
  
 

                        r.anderson  5Mar2011

Predictions

Sniff for snow, scan the sky,
touch the earth one time -
what do you say?

Throw out the old bones
one more time - something
is coming right this way.

I scry in old cattail fluff
the beginning of the world
the wander off of winter.

Can you guess when,
where it comes from,
where it goes? Nor can I.

feeding the . . . . . . .

cracked corn sunflower millet millet wet fawn foot print sunflower millet cracked corn millet seed.

 

News from a small town ...

5 times 911 calls came in this week

..  for deer that commit suicide in the streets

and at the chocolate shop . . .

..  marshmallows still float and a new flavor of truffles

....     are on display in the case . . .

News from a small town . . .

Is it inimical idiosyncracy
..  that small towns harbor idiots?
....How then... does it happen
......  that places in deep dark canyons
attract the most idiot-synchronicity?


I know a canyon, once home
..  to a peaceful folk that were able
....     to make a living and cohabitate
  ....      with wolves and bears and really wild things.
'Til civilization found them.


Preachers and parsons
..  with their swine and kine and lust and greed
....     incited and invoked until it took an army
 .....      to drive the peaceful people out...
and the civilized folk got rich on what they left.


Ahhh but in such a deep and darkened place
..  who knows what perversions portended
 ....    for surely what lay within... lurked without,
 ......       all these years of cleansing the ground
of savages and beasts and anything wild...


It is such a beautiful place that the echoes
..  of wildness was valued by society at large
....     and the halls of congress were drawn
 .....      to secure forever, some state of stasis
for such godly folk that still lurked there.


But yeah...  and nay, they shall not go
..  peacefully into any semblance of the night
....     when evil can be conceived...
 ......       in the hands that have secured their rights.
Guvmint and its minions... conservationists!!


The wolves have been loosed, again
 .. and the most fearsome are not the four-footed
....    but those that lurk in the minds
 ......      of what once were men... and infernal terrorists
from neighboring states incite... insurrection!


Let there be no doubts...
..  life in such deep and darkened canyons,
 ....   where the sun rarely shines in the course of winter
 ......      is a frightful thing to behold...
for such inhabitants have a right... to lash out wildly.


It is not a healthy thing to stand in the way
..  of folk from such a place... short of light and sight
....    and imbued with "the right.." and armed accordingly
......       if no real target exists... we can invoke phantoms
and give them names of convenience!


                                         r.anderson  4Mar2011

Portrait of the poet as a wild man

Pometicus crustacii . . .  lurks in weedy patches and and other out-of-the-way habitats,

                                                   rarely house-trained, poorly socialized, speaks "other-species" -
                                                   often hard to locate for it dresses in "the colors of mulch."

Bring blankets

bring blankets.


tonight the wind beats the house in a pillow fight 
first from the north, then from the east. fingers of
chilly that shouldn’t be able - reach under the door.
outside, the wind chimes do their thing, inside
the fire flickers wildly, even though it's just
tamed propane, and you just can't get a breeze
to go from there to here. one more time, then -
get up and bar the door. throw the rug over there,
over here. for tonight, all insolation is blocked
by the whole weight of the earth: we’re in
for a long dark one tonight, and no mistake.


bring blankets.

fugue

winter
 
harsh                     beautiful
                                                               kills

good bye, old soul

                          goodbye

Reflections . . .

She... was a small bear

..  just beginning her adventures of life

 ....   and in what might have been considered

 ......     a suitably sheltered corner of the world.

The traffic at Minam

..  was deadly, when caught in traffic,

....    between near vertical cut-slopes,

......       precipitous fill slopes and straightened lanes.

Perhaps... some passing motorist

..  had little or no warning in low or graying light.

....    She was only a small bear, dark and scared,
 ......      just a minor thump on the bumper, a lump in the road.

Her claws were frayed

..  from abrasion on pavement with braced feet,

....    hit from behind in the right rear quarter,

....      she must have been trying hard to get out of the way.

It is important that we can travel

..  Minam grade, faster, in the name of commerce

....     and saving a few minutes of travel, getting someplace

......       important or more picturesque or with wildlife.

                                          r.anderson  28Feb2011