Over those Hills

clear-cuts on far off hills 
stripped of forest habitat

for all the creatures
who might find it home

above the rocky cliff
straight down to death

we see a few trees 
hanging on for life

nothing much to see
its been cut down anyway

behind clear-cut hill tops
in those mountains behind 
(that chaos and devastation)

over those hills are mountains
shimmering in a heat haze

it can often get worse
so its likely that it will

so that view that day
no small thing to treasure

we could be thankful


latin names for flowers
refers to one specific
plant species (&variety)

so help me susan

bedraggled when
old blossoms fade
a coneflower is also
called echinacea 

worshipped almost
for rumored benefits

let me say right away
i am no expert in this

so let me say now
that you understand

my lack and failing
that there are many
subjects and fields

where my ignorance
is deep and wide

where i can say
i truly do not know

witness my idiotic
expression and my
tendency to grin

Burn Scars

see the burnt mountain
dead tree trunks
on the wild slope

some people love
those tree lives
now burnt crispy

now we look in horror
we see near disaster
in our own lives

something like dead trees
burnt to black crisps

hard black lines
against sudden bare rock

remember with joy
mountains never burnt 

dark green hillsides
distant blue mountains

places to see from
places to fall from

about a mountain
even after a fire
something unforgettable

Echinacea Center

sunshine streams down
as the morning warms

cool early morning
august still warms
in afternoons

a man on television
says changes are coming

expect october soon
bright orange colours 

crunchy leaves 
under happy feet

summer colours 
rule today on echinacea

we can't live out of time
we must live present
not past nor future

every second may be
a  struggle or we may
ride the currents

and the ripples in
the flow of time's river

Rising Tide

Rising Tide

as we sit at our table 
we watch the water deepen

something we cannot see
except by looking away
then looking back

boats at their berths
seem frozen in space

time seems meaningless

stories we never finished
we fill in missing details
as if it really mattered

our lives seem tidal
we do not understand

but we try to listen
(there's so much drama)

life (like an ocean)
tells us one thing at a time
rising and falling

though we may not see
the greater pattern

we understand that we
(like the big rocks)

will be submerged
at times (without notice)

Something Fuzzy

dandelions delight
smeared on your face
by a friend when you're five

nasty tasting but bright
something to see
a joyful yellow

then they get fuzzy
something more to see

little parachutes
to carry a genetic payload
to fertile places

dandelions, for all their
bright message are unwanted
called weeds and killed

pulled up and discarded
left to rot in compost

left alone they thrive
when we don't look

(weeds thrive when 
nobody is watching.)

some day we hope to thrive 
as well as dandelions

Leaning Tree

precariously suspended
a tree barely holds on

perched mid-fall above
remnants of a past flood

a perilous place at times

something beautiful
about a twisted tree

surviving beyond safety
in time and place

survivors inspire us

trickles below echo
rushing torrents
of just weeks ago

roaring has been 
replaced by whispers

although the trickles
rush headlong down
towards the salty sea

we walk on by
there's even more to see

Of a Good Thing

some say it possible
(too much of a good thing

how could it ever be so)

there was an old clearing
full of yellow wildflowers
on the forest edge

yellow beyond mellow
beside the forest
this field was a treat

(visually entrancing)

yellow seems to be
the brightest colour

under a springtime sun
it seemed amazing
it seemed good
clean and exciting

wildflowers (wild
beside the old forest)

endangered species
in endangered places

wherever are we now
wherever have we been

By the Waterfalls

By the Waterfalls

mists by the waterfalls
water the mosses

as they grow on
old pacific yew trees

these trees grow beside
the rushing water
wear a blanket of moss

she looks up at a sky
she'll never understand

plastic-chrome kittens
in an angelic sky

she knows what to believe

moss like groggy mornings
heavy eyebrows on branches

she never knows its coming
how very very fast
she sees the bright future 
become the dusty past

mists by the waterfalls
water the mosses

Dragons and Butterflies

Dragons and Butterflies

memories like dreams
reflect on things

that maybe never were
the past is a place
we can never quite 
get back to even visit

what would we do
if we ever did get back
(create paradoxes

different futures)

so then we couldn't
quite get back to
the same spacetime
we left because we

would have changed 
a few things which

would have changed
a few more things
a cascading disaster

something we have 
great talent for doing