Tap Root

Tap root
6/20/2015 for Father’s Day with the whole family together to celebrate

When we burst forth from the womb,
we sink it down
into the homestead of our grandfathers
A new umbilical cord
Connection to the bones of old
A tap root to anchor generations to come
in the cocoon of life, earth, and death.

We are the trees
Running deep
Nurtured by the land
The land from which we grew
and to which we will return
feeding
with our wisdom,
experiences,
our DNA,
our hummus,
the new children
who carry us with them
through the great cycle.

Today
on Father’s Day
we are all together
Held by the family tap root
Held to the fields and barns and woods
Held as one great soul
knowing that eternity lies within us.

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Things that are better fat

Dialia taken by Adrienne Haas
Dahlia photo by Adrienne Haas

Things that are better fat

Spring robins,
Neutered lap cats,
Breast fed babies
with toes that barely fit on their round little feet.

Northern pike,
Pussy willow catkins,
Frozen margaritas,
and hot-buttered corn on the cob
with kernels so plump
they burst on every chomp.

Let’s keep going…

Rollie pollie black bears,
A night time log for the fire,
Avocado for homemade guac,
and VW bugs with a spot for flowers on the dash.

Lemon meringue pie,
A good book on a lazy vaca,
White faced snowy barn owls,
Puffy Cinnamon rolls
topped with fat pecans trapped in oozing butterscotch.

Still more?

Campfire marshmallows,
Ambling porcupines,
Snow-melt creeks,
and juicy kissing lips that leave you breathless every time
…long sigh…

…a little faster now…

Gourmet chefs,
Santa Claus,
Lop-eared bunnies,
Sunday afternoons,
Baritone singers,
Peanuts in the shell,
Ax handles,
Dahlias,
Night crawlers,
Cumulous clouds,
Work horses,
Tomatoes,
Stadium cushions,
Down comforters,
Milk weed pods,
Christmas trees,
a fresh peach

…breathe…

and of course…
a bold
fruity
old vine zin
swirled
in a big-bowled wine glass
woo ha!

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Wood tick on my back

Wood tick on my back

Creepy but well designed
you scout my body sniffing for blood.
You tickle me with your spider legs,
your body broad and flat
like a Camero Z28.
You only want a little
but greed keeps you embedded
until you grow fat and round
and able to be discovered in the dog’s fur.
Your fate
the shoe or the match
or the flush and drain.

What can we learn from you?

Don’t take so much time
finding the perfect vein
that your flicked out of the game.

Be satisfied with enough,
excessive want and greed lead to the drain.

It’s not your shape and style
but your heart and brain
that make you who you are.

Find your purpose
and go for it with tenacity.

If you’re a wood tick,
be a good one
with pride and gratefulness.

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Red-winged blackbirds have lots of sex

photo (8)
Red-winged blackbirds have lots of sex

Red-winged blackbirds have lots of sex
and they sing
flashing their stripes
bouncing on a cattail.

What’s my singing perch
from which to belt out
songs of joy and gratefulness
and courtship and love?

My cattails are
the little thoughtful things,
the daily things.
A welcome-home kiss,
A text of the sunrise because you know it will make me smile,
Picking up my plate after dinner,
Leaving the garage door open when I am soon to be home,
A walk holding hands,
Filling two water bottles before we go to the gym
and putting lemon in mine,
Bringing the car around on a cold evening out,
Bouquets of wild flowers and lovely weeds,
Offering me a stick of cinnamon gum,
Carrying the heavy laundry basket down the stairs,
Inviting me along carp fishing,
Trying all the crazy things I cook,
Listening to my poems,
Snapping my snowmobile jacket collar so I won’t get cold,
A long hug before we part on work day mornings,
and never missing an “I love you” before we go to sleep.

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Moon lessons

Moon lessons

Nodding moon
winking at me
through cloud holes
like downcast eyes at a funeral,
eye lashes wet with longing
in the dark of forgotten day
hope is the guiding star
watching over the sagging moon,
watching over my perception of me

My matter from stars
tugs me across “time,”
time the human illusion,
tugs me out of my ego
into eternity,
into shift,
into universality –
the only reality

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Robin’s snow

Benjamin Tatrow photo of three robins in  the snow
photo by Benjamin Tatrow

Robin’s snow
Inspired by Jane Heil

The old wives
and some young aunties
know about the Robin’s snow.
The calendar says its spring
on the vernal equinox
but it snows three times on a robin’s tail.

The third snow came on April 10th.
The robins kept faith,
the deer laid in the season’s last white beds
and the fox, he zigzagged
in a game of fox and hound
across the snowy yard

until noon when the sun washed it all away
soaking the nitrogen rich precip into the greening grass.
Good for the farmers
who hitched up their manure spreaders
and scratched that long itch of winter
to get out and play in the naked dirt.

The medicine wheel has turned
and the flitty birds come home
until the next shoulder season
when the crops are in the mill
and the worms burrow deep
and the last Robins of fall take wing
until spring.

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Easter Feast

Easter Feast
Easter feast

Spring spread a table of delights
at my feet on Easter morn.
The flittings of amorous song birds,
downy catkins seasoning the dark branches of pussywillows,
and the smart rappings of a downy woodpecker.
My ears filled with the soulful musings of mourning doves
and the tinny trickle of the melt fattened creek.
The sky was buttered white with only a few crannies of blue
spreading the small rain and lengthening light
to pulse the land back to life.
All this covered in a gravy of fresh wind
made this truly a day of renewal
of flowing sap
and seeds in the warming soil
cracking their winter shells
poised for unfolding their green
as I unfold my long legs beside the creek
and trotted off to Easter dinner.

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