mjblathers

dark poet who loves to laugh


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petroglyphs

stories told in simple sketches:

stick figures distinctly human

hand prints

paw prints

prey and weapon, atlatl

big horn sheep, lizard

hare and tortoise

short, parallel lines capped by single longer line

short, wavy lines capped by single longer line

what do they mean? why were they etched

on black, desert-varnished rock face

at times high above, reached only

by perilous climb

why?

warnings? maps?

celebration of successful hunt?

prayer to the great unknown?

we know only that humans

were here – this desert place –

eons before

felt this heat, squinted against this glare

worked to feed themselves and family

huddled together against night’s sudden cold

anxious, relieved, joyful, fearful, mournful

humans

reaching out over thousands of years

to us, who barely comprehend,

but feel their common humanity

Valley of Fire, Nevada


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gray the day

i had forgotten

cape lookout’s gray-wild beauty

rousting waves battering

leaping at glistening rugged cliffs

rain-bounty falls parenthesize

their white-foamed poundings

 

i stand at the edge of rounded stones

looking up through scant-needled

evergreen doilies at sky of pearl

heaving grizzled clouds

harbingers of oregon’s lush

green-wild beauty

 


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starstuff and dust

snow flake, gentle drifting

large enough with accumulated experience

to know how to fall

with grace and awareness

of what surrounds us

if not of what we can do

if only with hope that what i can be –

unique, myself, unduplicated –

that mote or particle unlike any other

yet somehow akin –

how this individual can grow, can add, build

quietly give in a world of screamers of ‘me!’

to a culture of ‘take, before you get taken!’

how softly this bit of starstuff and dust

can reach to help, to learn

perhaps only to realize – finally – how gracefully

to fall again to ashes and dust

and thereby hearten a youth to see

death as part of life

and thus to live

in laughter and love

 

 

 

 


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wind song

whispers of wind buffet

the long, hanging chimes

brushing, caressing, clambering

clanging non-melodic tones

that grow, invent, cry out

a music more complex

than reason

like love

we think we know

but when we feel

all sense staggers

our understanding

is captured on the wind