Tracking the lyric valuables in the shadow of Lone Cone on Colorado's Western Slope
Sunday, April 24, 2022
Little Cone
Earth Day
America's Environmental Holy Day
is hard to celebrate
with all that talking about
sacrifices
hardships
looming catastrophes
as climate tightens the geologic belt
as eons telescope into lifetimes
as whole blackboards of dark matter
disappear into Einstein's equations
only to reappear
in the lyrics of world music
those multimicroverses of dark energy
that morph us into the
there & now
moving us faster & smaller & tighter
so that centuries, millennia, periods
contract like exploding stars
Saturday, April 23, 2022
Jon Sapp
Obit
A grinning handyman
who rode unicycles
fixed my bikes
A neighbor in Norwood
we'd wave smile
maybe chat a while
A good man
left us
on his own terms
I'm Back
(Photo by Rio Coyotl)
Friday, April 22, 2022
Occupied (they, theirs)
Saturday, April 2, 2022
Bristlecone 3
The new issue of Bristlecone, Colorado's latest online litzine, is out -- thank you Joe Hutchison!
Go Here
to read the work of Patricia Dubrava, Jeff Foster, Beth Paulson, Daniel Klawitter, Lary Kleeman, John D. Levy, David Mason and yours truly.
Below's the poem of mine that appears in the mag. The Rainbow Family is considering hosting this year's national gathering in Colorado:
Rainbow Gathering
-for Dolores LaChapelle
Purple lupines tell us more than park rangers
when we camp amid their wolfish blooms
Tug their starry leaves until the dew
seeps into our skin & we come to realize
what a wet kiss can really mean
"That ain't dew," pipes up McRedeye
"that's coyote piss.” And the laughter we
hippies ring from the bell of our mouths
announces not ecstacy’s vespers but the
zen koan of the Trickster's leer. The fear
in the cop’s sneer. Despite the arguments
for & against Earth First!, Murray Bookchin
coast redwoods & the superiority of the
sensuous, we’ve learned how to drum, hum
& chant. How much morning tai chi teaches
us in the shadows of Shandoka's slopes
How quickly we can recover the lost harmonies
of the Wild. How deep Nature’s alive inside us
Hungry hawk chicks nested in the branching
of our neurons. Whole fields of timothy &
escaped orchard grass up against hot splashes
of Indian paintbrush. Golden mariposa petals
Wind-whipped groves of spindly doghair
tremuloides, false hellebore, sweet cicely &
& the 40-year flowering of green gentian
All the plant lore that any good Crone knows
Hiking with her we stumble into beauty
Carry home stone. Bone antlers. Trilobites &
fat boletes to remind us on the way to & fro
what’s meant in taking the time to lose
ourselves in skies gone psilocybin. To grok
bristlecone pine impervious to alpine gusts
To settle into the embrace of our more
than human family, and even if only
for a few days, to hear our own opened
hearts singing us back into the mystery
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Thursday, March 31, 2022
Tax Time
Winter of our Discontent
Expected snow
but their band of flakes
a no-show
No surprise
This dosey-doe
of cloudless skies
Drumbeat of tax cuts
border wars, coal scat
& plutonium futures
Itki’s undanceable
Unsustainable
An off-key bully boast
Itki's care frozen mid-step
Wisdom in flaming absence
Let’s face the facts, we’re furious
Time for manifesting anger
that makes the floor shake
Calls us out
to act on
our thwarted socialismo values
Mad as shaggy manes
busting up
through the White House lawn
Disgust pushes us
onto the Beltway dancefloor
for a little Aztec
two-step
A tarantella of protests
where outside action comes from
an inside movement
Outrage that won't stay put
Though, as one Ish Nation poet scribed
putting a hopeful spin to the story
In every good tango
there’s a step backwards
too
Nevertheless, McRedeye sez
no time for tip-toeing
This ain’t no ballet
Best be joining
hands & yes yes
jumping into the mosh pit