Open Range Folks

Timber Wolf

from Pinterest

This is day four of 28 Days of Unreason:

“There is a human wildness held beneath the skin that finds
all barriers brutishly unbearable.” – Jim Harrison

 

Indeed, a kernel exists
that reasoning resists.

A girl I know eschews
to traipse about in shoes
Her feet she contends
don’t breath at the ends
“Open range they long to see;
grass fed, preferably!”

A boy I know follows rules askance
and if he follows them it’s by chance
a feral cry from him when I interrogate
“Just my way!” says he, the ingrate

I knew a man at ninety who a ladder climbed
his house to paint…

And nobody said crap to him

 

A little over a year ago, I joined Jillys2016 in a challenge called “28 Days of Unreason.”  She culled quotes from the poems of Jim Harrison in a book called Songs of Unreason.  We used the quotes as prompts; diving boards suspended over the abyss of poetry.  Jill is revisiting unreason, and I am skipping gleefully along.  Come and join the fun!

My Rinse and Spin Thoughts

Rinse and Spin

photo by Charley — feel free to steal it

This is day three of 28 Days of Unreason —

“As with dancing you have to learn the steps” – Jim Harrison

 

Things my mother told
me don’t always work.

Here is how the dance goes:

One – my eyes surface to discover
the incivility of seven has intruded.

Two – mourn the loss
of the unbeing peace of slumber.

It often isn’t the molten silvered dawn that molests,
but the army ants that inhabit
my joints and ligaments;
or the gestating future ghosts that haunt
my brain – my brain has become
a perpetual motion machine.

Three – brushing my teeth helps.

Four – breakfast soothes the wooly beast that grazes
at my bowl and drinks
out of my coffee cup.

Five – ponder.

Did I forget to turn off
the alarm of my rinse and spin thoughts?

 

A little over a year ago, I joined Jillys2016 in a challenge called “28 Days of Unreason.”  She culled quotes from the poems of Jim Harrison in a book called Songs of Unreason.  We used the quotes as prompts; diving boards suspended over the abyss of poetry.  Jill is revisiting unreason, and I am skipping gleefully along.  Come and join the fun!

Paparazzi

0604151453

photo by Charley

 

red shoulders

cold shoulder

not blind

to one behind

the window blinds

offhand glance

only one chance

photo shot

lizard got

human scare

off on a wing….

 

We’re Looking Out/Looking In at dVerse today. Lillian is hosting Tuesday’s Poetics and asking everyone to consider the windows in their apartment/home. We can either look in or look out; look at the view or the window itself. And then write a poem that somehow deals with that window, metaphorically or in reality (poetic license allowed, of course!). Each writer is to do two things: 1) post the photo of their window or view from their window; and 2) write a poem motivated by that photo, using the word “window” in either the title or text of the poem [Almost COMPLETELY plagiarized from Lillian’s post!  🙂 ].

Haiku – Death Poem

Journeys to the Spirit

tokyofoundation.org

28 Days of Unreason, day 2 prompt:

“That morning the sun forgot to rise….” – Jim Harrison

 

he turned off the trail
no birds accompanied him
Basho breathed no more

Jill at Jillys2016 is revisiting a 28-day prompt-fest she calls “Days of Unreason.”  The name comes from a book of poetry called, “Songs of Unreason,” by Jim Harrison.  If you have never read any of his work, you’re missing out!  An author and a poet, Harrison lived… or at least wrote… on a totally different plane.  Possibly a different planet.  “I can’t walk in the shoes cobbled for me.  They weren’t devised by poets, but by shoemakers.”

Against the Floe

Pigs on the Wing

from Pinterest

The Konungs skuggsjá, 1250,
derided as lunacy: mention of growing
corn by Viking farmers in Greenland.

But hear!

Nordic archaeologists in trash heaps find
barley corn preserved by being scorched.

Not threshed, packaged,
not imported –
grown there for beer.

Climate warmer then….

Intelligence flickers.

 

A Quadrille, as we celebrate the rejuvenating return of The Poet’s Pub at dVerse.  The prompt that Grace gives us for our 44 words is ‘Flicker.’

Source of Vikings in Greenland information: http://sciencenordic.com/vikings-grew-barley-greenland

Now, before anyone go ballistic over this poem let me add this: I am a former meteorologist, a certified science teacher (along with a few other certifications), one-quarter Viking (Norwegian… and possibly Swedish… along with a mish-mash of other human breeds), and an avid reader.  The recent findings concerning the Viking farming communities of Greenland have been astounding!  Not only were there farms along the southern reaches, but well inland.  The reasons posited in the past for their demise have fallen away in light of more recent findings (as so often happens to perfectly reasonable scientific theorizing).  The most exciting part of this article is that the Vikings brought brewing along with them wherever they landed.  …which explains the prevalence of beer drinkers in Wisconsin and Minnesota!

Your Better Dawns

IMG_2659

photo by Charley

Days of Unreason, day one prompt:

“In this world of dreams don’t let the clock cut up your life in pieces.” – Jim Harrison

 

The solid brass slicing voices
of Regulator clocks hanging
over our heads disillusion sing.

Creation through us flows
freely, allowing us to ignore
today.  Our calendar plans
crash imagination’s flight;
loss of lives – details at ten.

The solid brass workings
of the clock, your life dissects.

Do not allow time’s constraints
to sushi-fy your better dawns,
laughing storms, sunsets of awe.

A little over a year ago, I joined Jillys2016 in a challenge called “28 Days of Unreason.”  She culled quotes from the poems of Jim Harrison in a book called Songs of Unreason.  We used the quotes as prompts; diving boards suspended over the abyss of poetry.  Jill is revisiting unreason, and I am skipping gleefully along.  Come and join the fun!

It’s Open Link night at dVerse Poets Pub.  Stop by and say, “Hi!”

My Life In Genres

Got blues in the washer.
Solid bass and drum backbeat
in the laundry.  Guitar slides
and spins, and that whiskey
voice mellowed by water and suds,
“Ain’t but one way out,
and that’s through the dryer.”

My jazz is piled next to the iron.
I’ll work on syncopated pleats
and those improvised wrinkles.
Couldn’t get the scat out –
what I get for picnicking beneath
bird land – but so what?

Need to work in the rock garden,
rearranging those rolling stones.
Maybe pick some willburys,
pull a few bonamassa,
and deal with the infernal clapton.
I’ll chase off the black crows,
and later can some black-eyed peas.

As we were getting ready for our day out of the house this morning, my wife innocently commented, “I’ve got blues in the washer.”  You have to know, when you’re married to someone who thinks they’re a writer, that every sentence is potential fodder….