Nineteen Eleven

I stared at the red soil –

feeling accomplished and proud.

Ironic to see death in soon growth,

a sense of gratitude emitted

from my natural surroundings.

One-hundred years of faithful

service perfectly exemplified

in an ominous single-action.

The doves fluttered at the crack

and rumble of a wise thoroughbred.

With a rooted grip, I leveled the sites

like a planted field of symmetry.

The powerful figure trembled

like a kicked hound at the smooth

racking of a maintained slide.

My poise remained as balanced as

a peregrine with the weighted

click of seven horsemen.

John Browning’s most distinct breed

solidly clutched in my hand.

Canola, soy, corn. Wheat is next

to be destroyed by greed.

I will enforce the laws of nature

with pure fertilization, planting a permanent 

seed in our land of excess.

Rising Dissipation

While  surrounded  by  dark,  vivacious  warmth  glistens  my  skin.

Torrid souls blindly rise, an  endless  escape  of  consuming  heat.

Haphazard  crackling  inspirits  the  muted  stars  watchful  gaze.

I  prod  the  bloom of destructive  freedom  with fieried  patience.

Instantaneous bursts of firefly animation dance in glossy eyes

igniting the brush of stressful dampening like dried kindling.

The  charred  perception  within  me  is  released  with

every  swarming  death of fallen life  –  Behind  –

the cold damp air lingers amongst the nearly

spring chorus greeting the night.

I stoke and study the thriving

design, while the stalker

waits for the vitality

to  dwindle.

"We must uncenter our minds from ourselves. We must unhumanize our views a little and become confident as the rock and ocean that we are made from." - Robinson Jeffers

Joining the Bears

Finally   leaving  that  damp   and  dark

     cave as often left before.

The  yearly  trip  to  despondency   with

              return, pure and enlivened.

Distending  hoarseness,  my  insides  out

          scratched, weary, no comfort.

Time  for  a  change, dropping  clear  and

          refreshing, growing forth the

living inspiration left   for months  leaning

              against the dark cave door.

The   lingering   aphotic   drab  has shaded

              engrossing vibrant growth.

Seeing flourishing infancy, and abandoned

                 art under dawning hands.

Precipitate and return my downstream flow

                of idealism, for now I see

the beauty in hibernation.