a recent poem about the mountains near where I live

Holy Ghost Creek

A lucky orange dog with thick hair & red

bandana crosses the interstate near

Glorieta Pass,

not quite controlled burn smoke

hangs in the valley, low

leathery brown over the round

green hills all muddied together

like spirit bison.

Up the trail along the Holy Ghost to old

Baldy, ascending tiers of tiny pastures

fading yellow now

fervid with September asters &

cinquefoil,

the higher I hike

the burbling trickle of a creek

crosses me more than once.

I’ve imagined it

coursing through my veins,

blood disciple,

a transfusion of headwaters

streaming in spring

cataracts down from a

treeless domed summit

& running away with the best of me

until it plows into the indefatigable

Pecos, shedding its snowmelt,

destined for the valley of

these summer burns.

Impervious old Baldy

the clouds build themselves about

his mastiff head in

no particular order;

there were herds of bison

down below the smoke once;

their spirit shadows drink from

the Holy Ghost, still.

New Mexico poet Keith Wilson

There's going to be a tribute To Keith Wilson reading down in Placitas, NM on June 15th. I was emailed this superb poem. So silent, so simple, aching with the weight of seasons. Brash & tender. He has written & taught in New Mexico for many years. He is the author of several books of poetry.

Desert Cenote

There is sadness among the stones
today, the rabbits are silent.

No wind. The heat bears down.
It has not rained for one year.

We have faith out here, desert
people, we wait, knowing with sureness

the swift cross of clouds, the blessings
of moisture (to deprive a man is to give

charms to him.) I love this dry land
am caught even by blowing sand, reaches

of hot winds. I am not the desert
but its real name is not so far from mine.

Keith Wilson

Jim Harrison is 70!

I look at the calendar and notice that author Jim Harrison is 70 this year! With friends like Yesenin and McGuane, who needs a truncated life? A toast to you! maestro. A real fire breather. Have been reading his Theory And Practice Of Rivers, selected poetry and much of it is great stuff. Tough guy, man-out-in-nature living the zen hearty life. Not "nature writing" per se, that would be simplistic, but he fits into gaggle of wordslingers like Terry Tempest Williams, Gary Snyder, James Dickey, James Wright, Lew Welch, Wendell Berry, Han Shahn, William Stafford and others, celebrants, all, of the drama and poetry implicit in the environment that surrounds us. Spirit Of Place writers.