—Poems and Photos by Taylor Graham, Placerville, CA
WHERE THEY MINED FOR GOLD
a gloss for the goat of Spanish Hill
Sprung from the silence of the hill
He hangs upon the ledge a-glisten.
And his whole body seems to listen.
—Edwin Markham, “The Lizard”
A steeply hard-panned, rutted road
to climb, where miners took their fill
of gold, and left. Yet something lives,
sprung from the silence of the hill—
whether he-goat gone wild, or some
earth spirit no one would christen
with bell or name. Up there, standing,
he hangs upon the ledge a-glisten
with shattered gold quartz, human dreams—
and this: a survey stake lodged in
firm ground. To grade and pave his wild?
And his whole body seems to listen.
a gloss for the goat of Spanish Hill
Sprung from the silence of the hill
He hangs upon the ledge a-glisten.
And his whole body seems to listen.
—Edwin Markham, “The Lizard”
A steeply hard-panned, rutted road
to climb, where miners took their fill
of gold, and left. Yet something lives,
sprung from the silence of the hill—
whether he-goat gone wild, or some
earth spirit no one would christen
with bell or name. Up there, standing,
he hangs upon the ledge a-glisten
with shattered gold quartz, human dreams—
and this: a survey stake lodged in
firm ground. To grade and pave his wild?
And his whole body seems to listen.
BLUE SKY, WHITE CLOUDS
A tree fell root-side up, roots
weathering in air, from rain and sun
unsheltered. And look, a small
creature peeks out at daylight.
A root-piglet, or a small root-dog
in the crown of roots. Its eyes
regard me. “And so,
what are you?” it wants to know.
WILD NATURE’S TRIANGLES
Between Thanksgiving and Christmas,
three wild turkeys paraded the Spring Street
centerline, oblivious to traffic dodging potholes.
Then one morning, only two turkeys,
as if Spring Street were our town’s Bermuda
Triangle. The two stood sentinel, awaiting
a return; finally, calling loud and mournful.
Just two turkeys. In winter rain and fog,
everything but slick pavement disappears.
Now it’s almost spring. Blue skies, white clouds.
Today I hit a pothole to avoid two turkeys:
tom in full tail-fan, the hen with head tucked
demurely or wondering, is this
the only guy left in the world? Have I
no other choice?
THROUGH A BLIND WINDOW
a lisana
Leafless
branches, young oaks awaiting sun
to spring their buds beyond our sight,
and guess
what’s just bursting to be undone
from this closed room as dead as night.
Whiteness!
sparkling clouds on blue sky and one
bird singing up the woods with bright.
LATE WINTER HAIKU
through bare blackberry
bramble whistles a chill wind—
listen, spring’s coming
prints on a dirt road
waffle-tread, cow’s cloven hoof—
so many histories
no wildflowers yet,
buckeye just leafing out—look!
red-bark blossom-bells
white clouds race across
blue sky, whipped by a cold wind—
spring fleeing winter?
on a rainy day
trespassing a vacant lot
daffodils in bloom
BOOK, CAT, COMPUTER
In the night
his eyes carry him
to unknown places.
He is your friend.
—William Carlos Williams, “The Turtle”
I got to the end,
skimming lines and lines—
ink on pages
once crisp white, stained
with fingers briefly
touching a word
caught between covers
left so long
closed on the shelf
in the night.
I was looking
for I didn’t know what.
Part of my brain
skipping from The Turtle
to my cat intent
on dallying
with computer cords
& cables,
scouting dark corners.
His eyes carry him
through office-jungle
to tangle of cords
communicating
energy to
circuit and screen.
What have I to do
with Turtle
but with cat-mind
adventuring
to unknown places?
My kitten, Latches,
with prehensile
ability to
open doors, explore
dark cupboards—nothing
contains him.
His purr might
be the original song,
as the book tells me
He is your friend.
Today’s LittleNip:
WHOSE CHAIR IS IT?
—Taylor Graham
The rocking chair belongs to Latches.
It used to be the man named Hatch’s
chair, but cats take precedence in all
matters from the great to very small.
By the good grace of black cat Latches,
Hatch may sit there in timely snatches
but only with Latches smug in his lap—
both of them snug in the black cat’s nap.
____________________
Our thanks to Taylor Graham for today’s fine poems and photos, including some thoughts about our recent Seed of the Week, Blue Sky, White Clouds. Don’t forget that Taylor will be co-leading a Wakamatsu workshop with Katy Brown this coming Sunday, Mar. 24. Contact Julie@ARConservancy.org to sign up, or call 530-621-1224.
The Spring issue of eco-journal Canary is now available at canarylitmag.org/, celebrating yesterday's Spring Solstice.
Lots to do today in poetry in our area:
•••Starting at noon, Third Thurs. at the Central Library in Sac. meets for a poetry read-around;
•••Ladies of the Knight read in Yuba City at Justin’s Kitchen, starting at 6:30pm;
•••Don Schofield (plus open mic) is featured at Poetry in Davis, John Natsoulas Gallery, 8pm;
•••Poetry Unplugged at Luna’s Cafe and Juice Bar has featured readers plus open mic on 16th St. in Sacramento; 8pm.
Scroll down to the blue column (under the green column at the right) for info about these and other upcoming poetry events in our area—and note that more may be added at the last minute.
—Medusa (Celebrate Poetry!)
—Anonymous Photo of Anonymous Cat
Caught Reading Human Books in His
Rocking Chair
Caught Reading Human Books in His
Rocking Chair
Photos in this column can be enlarged by
clicking on them once, then clicking on the x
in the top right corner to come back to Medusa.
