Roadtrip Yreka

Yreka

I see not the hills
only the cool valleys;
shade, moisture,
life.



Ashland (1)

"Shhh,
the green sage whispers
to the burnt tan earth,
let the oak and pine take her wrath.
Lay hidden, invisible."
And I listened.


Ashland (2)
Death Trees

Spectral hazes
among the evergreens.
Silver shimmers,
telling tales.
Three hundred and sixty fingers
pointing to a future,
we already know.


Ashland (3)

Puppet clouds
hang behind the rich green foreground.
Why do I only see anger,
resentment?
If I could only apologize
for another's crime.



Talent

Her gentle hips swing
with the shimmer of her coin belt
displaying both beauty
and dowry

and he
pastures thirty proud horses
along a common path.

See my wealth.



Goldhill

I remember Masada's stone fortress
and the six day war.
I'd rather ride with the wind
than allow you
to catch my spirit.



Rogue River

An arbutus
and a field of orange pine,
no relation.



Evan's Creek

Air above the water burns,
a hanging scent,
a hush before the plunge.

For a moment ice envelopes
and then we accept
the coldness of a new world.



Josephine County

Anachronistic,
she grasped the other times;
the comfort, the joy,
the different complexity.

Married by another's wish
she found escape in fantasy
and hope in death.



Hugo (1)

Sandstone backdrop
and Romanesque columns,
an illusion of Petra
without the depth
or antiquity.

Can we dance
the backwards life
of Merlin?

Can the stained red concrete
hope one day to live again?

Old wives focus on the pain
and learn.



Hugo (2)

A bare wall
of sparse evergreen
with a sage backdrop.

Seurat's curled dots
(without my glasses)
take me back to the Seine.



Sexton Mountain

A flash of purple trim
decorates the green forest.
Yellow, orange, and white
upon the cuffs and hem.

I see the garment
and now wait
for the man.

Perhaps a recent trip to China
and a surgeon's skillful knot.
If only Holmes were here.



Wolf Creek

A blue wrapped yurt
glides by on a bed of silver.
Two hundred horses
scream to be let go.

A bride's tribute.



Glendale

A haunting drone
sifts through the trees
while fairy mounds whisper
into the heat of dreams.

Magical riders
and times endless love
reaching forever
a silken lace glove.

Stories told in in the well of night
while stars flicker overhead,
crowns mounting awe
as Miranda sleeps in bed.

And still the humming continues
and I make of it what I will.
The drone now of bagpipes
on Glendale's forested hills.



Canyonville

I walked the silenced paths
within the forest black.
Sunlight dim while overhead
and warmth forever lack.

Underbrush forgotten
and a wolves deadly eye,
fairytale stories
and an owls hunting cry.

Hansel, Gretal, and Riding Hood
of this forest beware
Darkness warns you within
if you'll listen with care.

I walk the silenced paths
where few have tread before
follow with your heart
if you'll open the door.



Riddle

Perhaps it's a vegetable
served with butter hot.
Perhaps it's a bird,
sucking black worms,
earthen caught.

Riddle me this
through springs frozen thaw,
how many angels can fit
on the head of an Umpqua?



Weaver

Circular are the paths
walked upon the mirror;
left - right weaves
telling their tale clear

A gentle weight of bobbins
and silks flowing rush
with these the teller
paints a joyous brush

And now reader play your part
in a flash of inspiration,
take the weavers skillful hand
as with it now you run.

For his tale to silence
is too often told,
and the stories will fade away
if to your heart you do not hold.