So Much to Learn

—Poems and Photos by Taylor Graham, Placerville, CA

CALIFORNIA’S GOLD
After “Find California’s Gold”, a quilt by Linda George

all summer long we
watched sun burn the fields golden—
fringe of live-oak shade

canyon breeze lifted,
twirled the leaf slender on its
stem—sunset flaming

sun turning landscape
flammable as old papers,
the veins in our hands

veins that filigree
as brittling leaves from the tree—
gold brilliant in fall

leaves brief as haiku
falling in whispers

REMEMBERING SUMMER STORM

Air-quality alerts, smoke from fires not-so-far
and closer. But this morning the sky is new.
Lovely cool exciting feel of rain. Scattered
showers over the foothills, the TV says. No rain
here, yet, but the air smells of dusty trail
pocked with raindrops. Upcountry.
        It feels like setting off with dog
and daypack alone—the rest of the trail-crew
gone with their red-cards; fire is their business.
My dog and I volunteer. Today we’ll just
check trails, pick up litter; have the high country
to ourselves. Just for today.
                From above the cow camp,
storm clouds deepen their gray
over Round Top and the Sisters. The tingle
doesn’t fade like photos. Even now, years later
here in the foothills, it’s in the air, a chance
like lightning. One of these days, rain.

SEMINAL

The pleasure boat is grottoed in fog,
a Seminole-unconquered fog that asserts
itself over landscape at one with water.

No paperclip could fasten this day
to schedules for violin practice or toning
at the gym. All metaphor.

Atmosphere’s stuck at mid-summer,
appropriate for a pilgrim making his way
through this world inwardly.

Fog’s better than smoke, you say,
and a good rain
would wash all the inertia away.

LEARNING MY PLACE

My shadow on the lawn
backlit:
      Heiligenschein by half-
moon bright
in its own high sky
till
BOOM

mushroom-blossom-cloud
eerily self-lit stares
from beyond/above our roof
halo-flare       snake-blitz
lightning—
    there!—
louder/closer

still ridges and canyons away
north above the river but
right here
sudden summer downpour
    my night-
shirt drenched in so much
distant glory.

ELEGY FOR A DIRT ROAD

Each rut eroding into County pavement
witnesses all those winter ravages—remember
the storms of ’09, and ’17 engraved
in washout, boulders surfacing like stony
icebergs from underground. So much rain all
at once—in summer it’s hard to believe those
January maelstroms of plugged culvert, a year’s
creek-sweep of broken limbs, dead leaves,
a tether-ball, a decoy (blue-wing teal).
The asphalt man’s amazed to hear our little
Honda Fit can navigate the rocky toeholds
that once were drivable dirt road. The bottom
line of a paving job is more than a wild-
wood neighborhood can afford. Sign here,
he says, and it’s clear sailing, our tires
no longer touching ground.

LEARNING BEFORE CLASSES

It’s summer, school hasn’t started yet. But
the trees are still here; native and exotic (alien)
at easeful attention in sunlight of a blue sky,
sky swept clean today of smoke. The school is
as it was. Not vandalized, no teacher or pupil
gunned down, and the trees still standing.
Not so far away, school-ground trees cut down
and cleared in the interest of I’m not sure what.
Progress. A grand old sycamore, friend above
all others, that graced the playground of my
childhood, years and miles away; tree with all
its secrets and room at its root for mine.
Just across the road, here, a tree of heaven
has taken root of its own accord; blackberries
just ripe for picking through the thorns,
and sunburned annual grasses that escaped
a barbwire fence. So much to learn here.

Today’s MediumNip:

SUMMER RAIN HAIKU
—Taylor Graham

polka-dot raindrops
on dust of an old dirt road’s
winter-wrinkled face

August rain can’t green
sunburnt field with its soil full
of seed promises

scent of summer rain
before it falls—don’t close
windows, let it come

distant thunder, and
a quick sprinkle of rain drops
tickles puppy’s ears

this rain briefer than summer
love but the oak trees rejoice

__________________

Thank you, Taylor Graham, for some poetic thinking (and wishful thinking!) about our recent Seed of the Week: Summer Rain. Don’t forget that our new Seed of the Week is Parched. Send your poems, photos & artwork about this (or any other) subject to kathykieth@hotmail.com. No deadline on SOWs, though, and for a peek at our past ones, click on “Calliope’s Closet”, the link at the top of this column, for plenty of others to choose from.

Tonight, Poetry Unplugged at Luna’s Cafe will meet at 8 pm in Sacramento, with featured readers and open mic. Last Thursday night was Frank Andrick’s final night of hosting, after a long-running monthly stint down there (more than 18 years!), and our area is grateful to him for his fine service to our community! Thank you, Frank!

—Medusa

 Frank’s Cake

—Anonymous Photo

Celebrate Poetry—and those who bring it to us!

Photos in this column can be enlarged by clicking on them once,
then click on the X in the top right corner to come back
to Medusa.