I've decided to join Beverly A Baird, Linda Schueler and others in a "year long poetry practice – on the first Friday of each Month," when they, and anyone else who joins, will be writing a poem based on the theme of the month and a photo taken relating to that theme.
You can find out more about this here.
Last time, I didn't quite get the photo part right, so I sent a half decent draft of my poem to my partner, Randy Rotheisler, and a friend, Ron Peace, both gifted photographers, asking for images to accompany it. It was fun and they are ready to continue, so I've decided to continue this process.
While drinking my coffee, I stare out the picture window across the valley at the hills. Here in this semi dessert, they are brown almost all year round. The exceptions are when winter snow covers them, and for a brief spate of time, in spring, when fields of bunch grass, balsamroot, and a host of other wildflowers erupt out of the soil.
As I gaze out at this grey brown landscape, I've been musing on this theme of green. This time of year, it's still illusive, more like a dream, or a memory of a dream. I had a poem almost all figured out, and then woke up twice last week to fresh dumps of snow. Enough with the white stuff already!
Anyway, here is today's poem with two images to bookend it. |
| by Randy Rotheisler |
not yet green
in the between of winter and spring
these,
stoic brown hills,
oh landscape
wait,
wait oh so,
wait oh so patient
for the just waking up spring goddess
still that old man winter
he just
he just has to have
one last temper tantrum
now, the brooding brown hills
hide, disguised in white
old man,
you’ve overstayed your welcome
she’s stirring
soon now,
it won’t be long
she will rise
shoots and stalks sprouting
from the soles of her feet
as she strides
decorating these drab slopes
in an exaltation
of resurrection green
 |
| by Ron Peace |