"ponderosa" poems
Stomped earth with broad feet
Fastening fresh saplings into
Whole forests
Eight feet by eight feet, the grid
Through winter month's
To early spring
Line of tree planters, twenty
Sometimes less, sometimes more
On Shasta, on Lassen, on Trinity Alps
Douglas Firs and Ponderosa Pines
In Mendocino, in Eureka
Planting baby giants, Redwoods
Sequoias in Sequoia National and Klamath
Young men with hoe-dads
Knew some old ones too
Women as well, though few
If you could bear the snow, the rain
If you could bear back-breaking pain
The glory is yours
As was once mine
Reforestation
Go plant your line
To be eternally in
Mother Nature's good graces
And kinship known by campfire
Dec 26, 2015
Dec 26, 2015 at 9:56 PM UTC
The assassins hit in 63
And Camelot was gone,
Inspiration vanished
And the darkness sang it’s song.
*Vietnam escalated
Brezhnev’s Russia loomed,
Africa was eviscerated
And Red China entombed.
*Floating on a long white cloud
The Kiwis were replete
With abundant British markets
For their butter, wool and meat.
*The Europeans went ****
And Britain lost it’s way
When the Beatles and the Rolling Stones
Monopolized their day.
*Man landed on the moon
And raised the Yankee flag
And they shot Mahatma Ghandi
For making good things out of bad.
*The Berlin Wall dividing,
The Cold War tense and spare,
ICBM’s threaten silently
In their silos of despair.
*Bob Menzies ruled Australia
As an amassing of his loot
And his White Australia Policy
Condemned him as a brute.
*Found naked on her tousled bed,
Blonde hair across her face,
Marylin Monroe is dead
The world’s a darker place.
*In the Age of Aquarius
Our children lost their youth,
LSD and smoking ***
And Afro’s were the proof.
*Lots of leg in miniskirts,
High bouffant’s in the hair,
Screaming teeny boppers
Rock with Elvis on “the Air”.
*Giant, Rawhide, Ponderosa,
Martin Luther King,
Kaftans and a cheese fondue,
Abortion is a sin!
It’s a sixties kaleidoscope,
A panoramic skim
Of an era of wonderment
Which you and I lived in.
Marshalg
@the Gate
Mangere Bridge
20th January 2009
Oct 23, 2009
Oct 23, 2009 at 2:25 PM UTC
In the deep of time indigenous tribes
surfaced a red earth with protruding plateaus
and burnt canyons along the Cimarron River.
The ancient Anasazi settled
at the core of this mesa.
Scattered ponderosa pine.
Yet, their sudden demise echoed curiosity.
Navajo sensed a struggle of two infinite worlds,
a quivering inundation.
Circling its haunted ominous shape,
a skull with one eye, the apparition of light
rose into a blue desert sky.
Violent storms crackle hot lightning
strikes in a sulfurous summer-
an oracular hothouse.
Navajo talk of spirits or the gateway
to fire. Heaps of iron and lodestone
lodged in the cap. Only two
brazen, cat totem poles guarding its passage.
Standing among the mesa
to feel the verve of the earth.
A New Mexico sun beats down
burning the drowsed terrain.
To see the legendary shaman glow
in his ephemeral blue nimbus.
Bathed in gaudy turquoise.
Sensing the dark encroachment
of a ghost. Near the bony hills, soared
a turbulent black bird in full flight,
upward.
Apr 11, 2013
Apr 11, 2013 at 7:43 PM UTC
you came to the rodeo
with your latest portfolio
of sidekick apparatchi(c)ks
colorful lily - a realpolitik mariposa
and gloriosa - tall like a ponderosa
while i rode the appaloosa-
cool like - little joe
do they make you hum
a sweet song like i do?
sitting on your spanish saddle
booted to skeedaddle
when i beat the buzzer
while buzzards circled-
beneath a purple sun
you came that time
when i rode
-on the blue mesa.
r ~ 9/24/14
Sep 24, 2014
Sep 24, 2014 at 3:10 PM UTC
when i crashed
into the forest floor
the canopy stretched high above me
i lit a match
i've been here before
but i can't tell reality from dream
some time has past
the earth grows quiet
i see your face ingrained in every tree
the ember burns
down to my callus
i want to watch it swallow you and me
why do i turn
my mind to fire
to mend my broken bones and restless brain
i want to burn
i want to blister
feel everything, and never feel again
instead i watch
the flame extinguish
surrender to the darkness with a prayer
instead i watch
the flame extinguish
the smell of sulfur permeates the air
Nov 24, 2021
Nov 24, 2021 at 11:05 AM UTC
When Peg laughs like Liz
deep woman-hearted laugh
eating beef jerky on Mesa Verde
the good hearts and smarts of women
come back to me, not guessing
any better than they at the time what love
meant, leaving them behind in sandstone time
going to my own cement, sandstone
or good mountain grave
having seen the sharp-shinned and sparrow
hawk flying and at rest, not at peace,
seeking prey from a ponderosa snag.
I left my woman behind to float
alone down the long canyon for feathers
and signs, she's making camp
the moon half full, the sun half high
sky full of planets birds and stars
I look up from the rocks
elements
housekeeping, thinking
love that's learned to love
from earlier loves
laughs remembered, heard
in the laugh of the woman who is my wife.
Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 8:30 AM UTC
I saw the aurora lights in your eyes
Fresh streams and salty tides
I tasted strawberry fields in your lips
The sweet tongue of coconut as it splits
I swayed the tepid summer grass along your spine,
Gliding leaf petals in your hair, as we sat in the strong branches of this Ponderosa Pine
The place where I now go alone to ponder of you
Today, my vision only grows blurry, as it crowds with a deep population of blue,
The heaviness on my heart of a lighter branch almost spoils this beautiful view,
However, I can trust that this tree will never run from me,
It will stay rooted as promised; it will remain much longer than you
Apr 6, 2015
Apr 6, 2015 at 6:40 PM UTC
Although I hardly gave it a thought
I didn't really doubt
our miniature juniper, a bonsai,
would survive our desert vacation.
It likes the dry
air of our home, needs water
once a week at most and seems
meditative and active, both. While away
I rediscovered my love of agaves -
sotol and century
plant - met Mortonia and became
reacquainted with squawbush, its citrus
drupe which makes traveling the long horizon
of the desert uplands endurable.
Live oaks - emory,
wavyleaf - dominant and regally spaced
giving ground to mesquite only on the sere
sand flats. I counted and drew inflorescenses,
spikelets, florets, awns but grasses
remain a mystery
their microscopic parts. This year
I'll study, give them serious thought before
our Spring starts. The cactus wren was the one
bird I could be certain about. Sunsets
made me sorry
the desert is not my home. But the ocotilloes
flowered before we left and that made up
for the vicious attack of a hedgehog cactus.
Impressive, ponderosa pine and Arizona cypress
the canyon canopy
watered with snowmelt and along the high cliffs
limestone formations predating our arrival by
ten million years of weather. Newspapers
kept us aware humanity had not accomplished yet
the end of history
and that was fair. The planes were full of citizens
who no longer applaud upon landing. Snow flew,
not a pinyon pine or manzanita within two moons
walking. On the dining room sideboard, waiting,
our miniature juniper.
Aug 10, 2015
Aug 10, 2015 at 12:00 PM UTC
The cry of an eagle floats across a distant peak
bear tracks visible in the spring thawing snow
Sunlight, spreading its dance upon the land
the Ponderosa Pine and Aspen in bloom
The glaciers look down smiling the higher you climb
searching for that redemption never offered below
The wolf trails the hare back inside its snowy den
the road to all new entry having now been cleared
Permission never asked for, granted, as the music starts
it’s early May in the Rockies—the January of renewal
In a celebration of new life, flowers wrap the landscape like ribbon
tying close the promises like good wishes on a Christmas morning
It’s springtime even on the highest peak, and old questions lost of meaning now seem gone away...
Until reborn in the arrival of yet another desperate beginning
—holding nothing back
(Columbia Falls, Montana: September, 2003)
Sep 23, 2018
Sep 23, 2018 at 12:35 PM UTC
Aspen, ponderosa pine, blue spruce
pink glacier-cut rock, scree, ravens
gray jay, peregrine falcon, hawk.
We climb to 11,000 feet in three days,
camp at Lawn Lake for three days. Alpine
tundra. Elk, bighorn sheep, marmot.
Tileston Meadows, ticks in grass,
rock face of Mummy Mountain.
Binoculars show pink cracks in gray rock.
Stoke gas stoves, play cards.
Boil water, set up tarps, lay out
sleeping bags, hang bear bag.
Watch crescent moon slice into
Fairchild Mountain. Moonlight
makes a mosque of the rocks.
Yellow aspen splash in dark green
spruce and pine. Gullies where streams
slash during spring snowmelt.
One rock, feather or flower worth
more than money. Need no wallet,
keys. Just clothes for fur.
All day climb toward saddle to see
what's on other side. One hawk floating
among bare peaks and over valleys.
Wind at 13,000 feet
turns to sleet. Turn back from peak,
take boulders two at a time down.
Winter moves into mountains.
Then we fly from Denver to New York
where it's still summer.
Aug 9, 2015
Aug 9, 2015 at 1:04 PM UTC
The Grand Canyon is like the brain
with deep, unexplored fissures and tributaries,
the main route well known by now.
I am walking, walking inside my mind,
a grand canyon, a planet of canyons, a system
of planets. The exploration may become dangerous
I might lose my job, forgetting to go or losing
sight of its importance. But the job is gathering
pinyon nuts and agave fruits, it is the main
river, deepest cavity, how I find the unexplored
canyons and tributaries of my neighbors
and my enemies. But is it a religion,
a reason for living. It is a marriage, for better
or worse, with all the other living. The concept
of life's brevity, temporary compared
with the time taken to carve the canyon, does
not interest me. Each moment has a weather,
is a mirror of all other moments. The naming
of things goes on. Cliff rose and wavyleaf oak,
new mexican locust and sagebrush among ponderosa
and pinyon pine, juniper. Once I know
who they are inhabiting the canyon, the raven's
flight is meaningful. The raven's rock cave,
search for seed and carrion, my home and job.
Aug 9, 2015
Aug 9, 2015 at 2:27 PM UTC
(From My Novel 'Searching For Crazy Horse': Published 2011)
Columbia Falls, Montana- September, 2003
The cry of an eagle floats across a distant peak
bear tracks visible in the spring thawing snow
Sunlight, spreading its dance upon the land
the Ponderosa Pine and Aspen all in bloom
The glaciers look down smiling the higher you climb
searching for that redemption never offered below
The wolf trails the hare back inside its snowy den
the road to all new entry having now been cleared
Permission never asked for, granted, as the music starts
it’s early May in the Rockies—the January of renewal
In a celebration of new life, flowers wrap the landscape like ribbon,
tying close the promises like good wishes on a Christmas morning
It’s springtime even on the highest peak, and old questions lost of meaning
now seem gone away...
Until reborn in the arrival of yet another desperate beginning,
—holding nothing back
Sep 28, 2016
Sep 28, 2016 at 7:01 PM UTC
In a painted sky upon a summer day
or in the darkness of a ponderosa grove
in a barren river bed where at rest I lay
in a stony cave, that secluded alcove
Something there is hiding from my sight
something bright which is to me most dear
which shines with an unending effervescent light
and in the endless night it whispers in my ear
Whether it be in the woods, or in some desert bare
or in some other place I haven't thought to look
I know someday I share behold it shining there
and capture it between the pages of a book.
Dec 24, 2013
Dec 24, 2013 at 6:30 PM UTC
tired of my drooping Hanes,
my slept-in choice for greeting
a new morning tad overexposed,
my weekend breakfast table
body's accoutrement,
"coverup" she deemed accurately
as in-suffice,
my nighttime slept-in choice for
welcoming the new morning
as a single continuum,
exposing my true colors,
thus declaring biblically,
"Let there be night, let there be day,"
in a manner of speak
she-woman wryly declares
over her slim sizing
yogurt Greek and half of a laugh
of a banana downsized,
"You need some loungewear"
pondering this ponderosa-sized ponderosity,
grasping its monstrosity insulting me,
coffee pouring, Eye, a
first responder
contemplate irresponsibly,
thinking to reply with bravado,
that on said day,
when Eye accrete
such a class of clothing
so nomenclatured as
"loungewear"
upon my person,
or in my ward-so-unrobed found,
unasked for,
Eye will require transgendering
but my tongue bites me,
so instead
draw down on my John Donne,
on the subject of
food, good taste
and being unclothed,
and instead
He-poet
bequeath the she-woman
this riposte...
*"Full nakedness!
All joys are due to thee;
as souls unbodied,
bodies unclothed must be
to taste whole joys.*
wisely retreating than be
defeating,
not wanting
a world war conflicting,
with coffee mugged, Eye return/hide,
under the bed's blanketing comforter,
thinking of the taste of whole joys
of her body unclothed,
when later, she creeps in next to me,
to practice the serious art of
lounging...
Apr 18, 2015
Apr 18, 2015 at 9:30 AM UTC
Affluent men taketh and foreclose thy dormitory residence
They smirk and grin with their polka dotted ties
They loveth to giveth pain
They laugh to poor man's suicide
They build skyscraper's to thy sky
Metal steel to beam star high
Animal's tis they hunt as trophie's
Whilst African and even American babies art choking
From no food nor water!!!!!!!
They drop acidic gas for slaughter
Whilst putting chemical's in the turf
Slug round's to virginal church
They've scoffed high Jehovah
Made **** their Ponderosa
Wriggling worms
Master artists of DEATH
Selleth thy soul to the world dear reader
And thou shalt taketh thy last breathe
For they've madeth man focus on media ****
****** thee by breast's
They Maketh women a harlot *****
They telleth them what they should be
Giveth them fifty bucks
For girly magazines
But these art the Queen's
That the howler's corrupted their image
Man of no humbling
Devilish scrimmage
As he also maketh men
Robots to his illusion
Giveth him archery
They calleth them soldier brainwashed timid's
They run ourn own weather
( DARPA) run by the government beast
Stick poles in the ground
(Search it in Alaska) thou shalt seeith
Mankind thinks this weather is natural
As natural they tryeth to be
Disillusioned by fact's soon
Their chapter shalt be seen
Their heads will be bowed
Tasting the ash
Their law's of soo called justice
Kiss mine ***
No I don't cuss ( not a cusser honest)
But I'm overboard now
Sick of the molestation of ourn being's, creature's, And GLOBE overflowed!!!!
The blinded eyes
Are woozy by robes
But guess what dearest?
Almost the end of the show.......
Jun 26, 2015
Jun 26, 2015 at 12:43 PM UTC
I want to float down the Gila.
I want my back to scratch against the rocks and I want to experience pain, and continue floating with thicker skin and more stories.
I want to bask in the sun, and when she leaves, I want to soak up the glow of the moonlight.
And I want to be carried around the twists and the turns and I want to jump over the pebbles while reflecting the light of the sun.
I want to be next to the Ponderosa Pines as I make my travels and I want to swim with the fish.
I want to watch and observe and relax and think.
And I want to float down the Gila.
Dec 26, 2021
Dec 26, 2021 at 8:21 PM UTC
And instead of falling in love with people, I fell in love with hundred year old ponderosa trees and atoms unharmed by human breath
Jul 15, 2014
Jul 15, 2014 at 8:52 PM UTC
The cry of an eagle floats across a distant peak
bear tracks visible in the spring thawing snow
Sunlight, spreading its dance upon the land
the Ponderosa Pine and Aspen all in bloom
The glaciers look down smiling, the higher you climb
searching for that redemption never offered below
The wolf trails the hare back inside its snowy den
the road to all new entry having now been cleared
Permission never asked for, granted, as the music starts
it’s early May in the Rockies—the January of renewal
In a celebration of new life, flowers wrap the landscape like ribbon, tying close the promises like good wishes on a Christmas morning
It’s springtime even on the highest peak, and old questions lost of meaning now seem gone away...
Until reborn in the arrival of yet another desperate beginning,
—holding nothing back
Columbia Falls Montana: June, 2011)
Nov 1, 2016
Nov 1, 2016 at 2:00 PM UTC
Found a grain of salt masquerading as love cut like a diamond
Twinkling in the midnight ruff of ponderosa sawdust eyes
It danced a fox-trot to coral lips slipping shadow puppet promises
I stole it from them and stashed it in my pocket to keep it safe
When I went to give it back all I found was salt stained lint
Jul 18, 2014
Jul 18, 2014 at 4:42 AM UTC
Pretty, pretty Ponderosa
~butterfly dreaming
pretty much like a Lion
indoors sleeping
Pretty, says pretty girl,
Whatever do you mean?
Pretty women much prefer
Exquisite Angel Queen
Pretty cool, pretty soon
Autumn comes a'rollin'
Pretty much like fresh of breath
first thing in th'mornin
Pretty Sun, first of light
after hot and heavy night
Lush of Love, howling Moon
Rush of touch in my room
Precious one, Yes You,~my One
Please let me love you more
than pretty much any other
ever has before
Pretty, pretty Ponderosa
Will never let this end
...but tell me baby, tell me
Will I ever love again?
Sep 2, 2014
Sep 2, 2014 at 3:34 PM UTC
Winds howl through stricken streams,
From the moonshined mountains spiking Tennessee.
Steaming copper pipes protect like turpentine,
Cherish the soil from vine to wine.
Sweetwater medicine crosses Big Sky Country lines,
And a Capitol drowns voice's reedy rhynes.
The Carolines and swamps round' New Orleans,
Spokane's foothills spire like Woodland's Cherokees.
Mushroom clouds swooped ponderosa pines,
In the desert one day, made the earth cry.
Oh Beautiful, not time to flee,
The Jersey Wetlands or Houston's calamity,
Analogous feats, magnetic societies,
Build a bridge across contrary beliefs.
_trf
Dec 16, 2017
Dec 16, 2017 at 8:35 PM UTC
Between red dust
and Ponderosa pines
and the rains that smelled of your skin
Between the darkness
of various rooms
that we all once have sat in
Between blue skies
and cloudy days
and the times the Sun has shone
I wonder if there
was any way
anyone could have ever known
Known of the words
that we would speak
in the depths of our July
Known of the secrets
that we would keep
in lieu of telling a lie
But love is a color we can't comprehend
a sound we cannot hear
though forever will I try
To know and understand its hue
its melody, however obscure
for you,
always for you.
I realize now,
after years of delay
after numberless nights
spent with
the vastness
we call
space
That lovers see
in only shades of grey.
There is no black and white.
every right, every wrong
every agreement, every argument
is never wholly so.
there are only what if's
and has been's
and only what will be's
and being loved
and being in love
are rarely the same thing.
Apr 10, 2015
Apr 10, 2015 at 12:34 AM UTC
Doesn’t it ever get old?
To always be green,
to forever grow new
needles and cones,
until the day that
they tumble to the ground
for the last time?
Doesn’t it become
tiresome to stretch
ever towards the sky,
like a living skyscraper
without an architect,
building itself upwards?
Don’t your roots get sore
from centuries of digging
through soil and stone,
and the winds trying
their best to topple
and uproot you?
Or perhaps I am just
a foolish human,
a **** Sapiens_
trying to comprehend
the slow, steadfast
and eternal ways
of the growing trees.
Dec 8, 2018
Dec 8, 2018 at 12:48 PM UTC
i am powerless in your presence,
you’re the evidence of things not seen,
a beauty i can’t un-see,
see, you’re everything i’ve been praying for
my mind stays on you, my lips can’t say much more
your essence is the evidence of
prophesies; your presence is deific
magnificent is your image as you
baptize me in this new religion
you got me prostrating, your heavenly body is so amazing,
you make *** feel like divine revelations
i run my hands down the small of your back and it
is smooth as the ponderosa of a harpsichord,
spine subtly dimpled like the pebble-grain of a hymnal
this union we’ve made is not holy,
dulcet notes hit my ear the second you spoke to me,
you must be a goddess, baby
you radiate with the same intensity as the countenance of the sun
i get between your knees and
bless you with a thousand tongues
you’re dripping a lovely tincture;
it runs down my lips like holy scriptures
concupiscence is slowly
evolving into firm convictions,
throw away all inhibitions and
give into our carnal rhythms
i know our spirits intertwining,
for the first time, i feel christened
though we broke free of tradition…
you may be the goddess, but in the end,
i’ll be giving the commands
you’ll try to get a grip on reality
while you’re gripping the bed
you’ll feel a “hallelujah” deep down
without you clasping your hands
i’ll have you calling on a higher power just for you to call on him again
we are birds of a feather,
our souls merge perfectly together
our bodies intercede, while your hips reply to me,
it’s always sweet communion when i’m looking in your eyes
your smile is bright white ivory, something unrivaled
i could die in between your thighs and experience revival
{j.c.c.}
May 5, 2016
May 5, 2016 at 7:07 PM UTC
moldy socks stuck to the grime covered floor
hold my attention momentarily
lost in thought, scrambled
I wander from room to room
looking for misplaced memories
pictures of you in the sun –
retaliation against the bloodbath
leaves the young admonished
sent before the tribunal
judged by skin tone
and pronunciation of hard vowels sounds –
enraged caged beasts cease peace
fleeced pieces of feces resist change
instead hardening and shedding color
petrified putridity permeates the ponderosa
floating on a sea of geologic waste
the sandy shoreline smiles at the scene –
endgame fascists brooding over equality talk
sit Indian style, calling it “criss-cross”
so as not to offened
wait for the moment in which they are able to **** indiscriminate
those deemed less or inferior
pancake batter dried to the edge of fine china
dog hair gracing Chanel handbags
**** in frocks frolic in the farm fresh
air
for pennies –
***** jokes dot the comic strip
leaving children confused and aroused
immorality gains traction
with its studded tires and studly physique
sturdy in its placement
stable in the den –
awash with idealism
indigents scrap infected scabs
looking under for answers
finding only diseased blood –
Dec 29, 2014
Dec 29, 2014 at 3:48 PM UTC