double yellow

 

smoke and haze, 

up and down the St. Croix trail --

double yellow lines

 

Williams County 5: revisited

 

 

Williams County 5 --
pheasant children waiting
all along the road

a river of fog
 across the coulee --
   prairie greets the dawn

twice it plies
the muddy's twisted banks --
Autumn Equinox

 

 

 

lost

        lost
              on wildwood road  

                      waterlilies                        

                                directionless

pumpkins

pumpkins for sale -
grackles dive bomb the ditch
alongside the road

more poems about corn

prayers for rain -
the church league's corn boil
won't be held this year







the tall corn's shadow
cast across the grave yard --
Autumn is coming

strong stalks of ripened corn

silk entwined in red and yellow
long uneven rows

bright beside a winding road 

turned gray in constant drizzle

boardwalk

speckled fawns
linger on the boardwalk --
the sixteenth night

Quick Shot: After The Holiday

Hey, Brother!Good to hear a friendly voice. Yeah, I hear it ...

Shooting off fireworks with the kids for the first time, huh? By the way, I got your numbers - hang on - hmm hmm. Boy, I can just imagine. First thing I think of is their faces lightin' up ... you ever wonder what moments they'll remember? Now there's a thought we keep to ourselves, for want of appearing stoic, or strong, or unconcerned with trifles - the first thought always for our kids, always wondering if we're right or wrong.

I sure as Hell hope you got that camera rollin' now and then. It's aesthetically pleasing - if you're good or just a lucky fella you might even catch that eternal moment, if at all possible - depending on your attention to details as they occur. That other stuff remains unrecorded - some of it deliberately - if only to exercise the mind, maybe. Years later, even, to judge your character or gauge your maturity; a marker set like a guide stone along the roadway to note the advance of time.

And then? The thrill of the Fourth when I was little boy, in all its noise and fury, popped into my pumpkin head.

"I know how to handle fireworks!" The 10 year old me piped up, looking hopefully at my Dad.

"You'll know how to handle them when one blows up in your hand". He looked at me directly, a little sternly, no malice intended but like he knew something I didn't, part of the Pantheon of knowledge only Daddy's had access to - O', would we ever rise to that level? Still, it urged me to take caution, if more for the seeking of approval than anything to do with my personal safety.

I did pretty well actually, even after we returned to River City, the City of Thieves and the most boring town in America. Plenty of trouble for a lad to get into, times being what they were. Each situation to be challenged or just ignored, at the height of your fancy for mischief. Plenty of that to go around, all right. Pre-Urban Renewal, the kids near feral and the people as funky as that Old River that flowed past at the lowest points along the Levee. Yeah, the return was a retreat really, to my "home". My father's, really, while I remained a stranger. I been one since, anywhere I go. I'm about the same age as him now.

You know what happens don't you? That firecracker with the quick wick blows up in your fingers. FUCK! Hurt's worse than frostbite, god damn it, hurts like a motherfucker for a while. So what do you do?

You sure as Hell don't cry. Not in front of anybody at least. Unh unh. Shake off those tears and just keep going like nothing ever happened ... show off the mark it left maybe.

But, what about your Mama's?


a piece of string
to hold it all together -
traces of dreams

Road Trip (revisited)

between rumble-strips
and wild flowers -
two lane blacktop





mist from the hills -
where floodplain meets sky,
ripples blur the grey




Cannon, Whitewater,
Zumbro, Trout -
the place where the river widens





prayers for rain -
the church league's corn boil
won't be held this year





Route 66 -
a flyspecked whitewash
on the wayside rest






Sunday's summer sunset -
another small town
closes all its doors



;;

wildwood road

lost
on wildwood road
water lilies directionless






lost
on wildwood road
water lilies
in every direction

Road Trip

between rumble-strips
and wild flowers -
two lane blacktop





mist from the hills -
where floodplain meets sky,
ripples blur the grey




Cannon, Whitewater,
Zumbro, Trout -
the place where the river widens





prayers for rain -
the church league's corn boil
won't be held this year





Route 66 -
a flyspecked whitewash
on the wayside rest






Sunday's summer sunset -
another small town
closes all its doors



;;

Williams County 5 Vignette

twice it plies
Little Muddy's twisting banks --
Autumn Equinox






mile markers
in every headlight --
convoy on the 13th night

alone with a mirror
trying on these cowboy hats --
Autumn sky








heat and drought,
weeks gone by and still no rain
grass as dry as tinder
an Angus calf all caught up
in a few bare strands of wire








  a river of fog
high above the coulee --
prairie greets the dawn

Williams County 5 -
pheasant children waiting
all along the road







black-tailed deer
waiting in the blowing dust,
 a last leaf falls
the only tree within
miles and miles