January 27

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Woodland Hike on a Warm Winter Day

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Slick mud

Boot prints, paw prints, bike tracks

Damp fall leaves not yet decomposed

Ice in the most shady and tucked away spots

Rocks in the trail decorated with the dried patterns of sneakers and boots.

Frozen waterfalls slowly eroding in warming drops.

Layers of fleece and wool and down.

Hiking boots laced tight

Pant legs folded up three turns.

Slippery trails filled with people and

Dogs on leashes

Bright blue sky

Rock climbers on belay

Cliff drops above

Creek burbles and winds and runs below.

Sliding down to shore, hoisting up to ridge

Bare branches

Exposed roots

Red brown rocks

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(A list poem)

January 26

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On the occasion of Robert Burns’ 259 birthday yesterday.

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My love is like red red roses

Uttered Bobby Burns to she

Newly sprung in June he supposes

Good thing he didn’t say it to me.

*

I know those new red red roses

Aphids and beetles do assail

While fragrance goes up our noses

They are blitzed by fungus and scale.

*

Bobby Burns you can keep your rose

I have no interest in the work.

Why is it a red rose you chose?

You didn’t do your homework, jerk.

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(A quatrain poem)

January 24

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Pistachios

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Plate full of pistachio shells

Those salty nuts are delicious

On the calories I won’t dwell

But at least they are nutritious.

*

At eating these nuts I excel

The cracking gets repetitious

It’s at least one thing I do well

And they say they are nutritious.

*

Take them away and I will yell

To share them I am judicious

There really is no parallel

I promise they are nutritious.

*

The number eaten I can’t tell

When few are left it gets vicious

Eat too many and feel unwell

But at least they are nutritious.

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(A Kriele poem)

January 23

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The rain says what words cannot

The rain tap dances to the ground

Shuffling and sliding down roofs

Off beat and syncopated the

Drops create the day’s theme music.

*

A cloud based choreography

The rain tap dances to the ground

The rhythm of sound and silence

Beating into paths and puddles.

*

Fluid hypnotic drops amble

Complex, complicated lightly

The rain tap dances to the ground

Both corrosive and restoring.

*

Intricate, delicate tempo

Off-beat, in-time, gentle shuffle

Music is what the eye hears as

The rain tap dances to the ground.

*

( a quatern poem)

Credit to “What the eye hears – a history of tap dancing” book by Brian Siebert

And to Martha Graham who said “the body says what words cannot”

January 22

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I come into the presence of still water

When confused, overwhelmed muddled or unsure I

   grab my boat, my paddle, my vest, my gear and ask friends and family to come.

We set shuttle, we change clothes, we unload gear, we quietly, gently slip into

the water of the moment, running river, ripples and rapids, the

current slowly, maybe quickly carrying my boat and my worries and doubts away, requiring presence.

Focus, concentration, joy settles in place of

doubt and confusion creating a mind and soul that’s still

despite the movement of the water.

(A Golden Shovel poem Featuring a line from The Peace of Wild Things by Wendell Berry)

 

January 20

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An Afternoon at Elk

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Air is fresh and crisp, a new pair of

Bindings tightened down to ride afternoon

Corduroy and

Diamonds, squares and circles.

Enough space to spread out crowds,

Fallen flakes

Groomed into packed powder.

Hours spent on trails

In our own little worlds of

Jumping or not

Keeping up with each other or not.

Long lifts, longer runs with my hunny,

Midday sun warming bodies, softening snow

Needing to unzip and ventilate between runs

Off with the gloves and onto the lifts

Parting crowds of skiers and riders at the top

Quickly heading to where people are fewer.

Riding, turning, carving

S-turns and speed checks

Tinted goggles and tricky ice patches

Unexpected but not upsetting the flow, the fun.

Vertical of 1000′

Which isn’t a lot but the air is still

Xeric, drying exposed cheeks and chins, chapping lips

Yes we will be back

Zipping, slipping, sliding enjoying riding.

(An alphabet poem)

January 19

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Addicted

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At the slightest hint of discomfort

I grasp desperately for the remedy

Hidden deep in a pocket or bag.

*

Oh the relief when I find it,

The slow twist of the oily tube

At the slightest hint of discomfort.

*

Bracing winds, gentle breezes, dry office air

Fissuring of skin and cracking smile

I grasp desperately for the remedy.

*

Desperation due to desiccation

Panic sets in when it eludes me

Hidden deep in a pocket or bag.

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(A cascade poem)