call to arms

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whatever grievances were; they're laid to rest.

our tribes turn from calls to arms.

we sit here clicking to these screens

aiming words, opening minds, reaching.

we are weaponless and beyond love for gunbelts

as our empty holsters and loops are now

where firearms have left their marks

and bullets stretched thin strips of hide.

know that here that word shoot

is not an action, no, mere substitute

for another that describes what we've left behind
on our way home to what we're worth.

save those tears for joy

(that hides with your name

upon its lips around the corner),
if peace gets a chance.

sheeps in wolves clothing (to the tune of Procol Harums "Hamburg"

you multitasking techno tools
have thrown your towels all in
filling hours with lectro movements
and screens with cursed art trends
the doorways too seldom pass you
thou prisoners of programs and walls
grounds wait for all our footsteps
skies unseen hold mute birdcalls

your socks are soiled and threadbare
as sandals ignored fill with dust
your hair’s some brand new color
‘cause your iron will’s full of rust
the digital clock hums on nightstand
makes no ticking as time flies
handless point to fleeting hours
while taxes pay for violent lies
believed by only those who uttered them
who take the toll and greed smooth cries
and the masses bleed to pay the piper
bleating softly through wolf guise

friday in february before the storm for dulce

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friday before the storm
the light was just right
storm clouds following behind me
Alexander Valley all around
vines sleeping nearby
wind quiet for awhile
patches of blue in the windows
dark gray in the rearview
thoughts of mustard
and you

three fresh california midwinterku

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these haiku are dedicated to another hundred year old tree taken in santa rosa.

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nimbus mist full moon
branched in getting naked tree
sliding down on trunk

acorns drumbeat on
swish of wind strewn fallen leaves
rimshots on gutters

raindrops buffet panes
tree branch fingers scratch rhythm
sky flashes boom rolls

Semper Fido

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Around this time of year I think of two things

sitting around a fire in a mountain cabin

with a furry friend and some good cheer

and all the other yules that went before

All those years as a child amid family doings

all those years in between in gatherings of friends

all are pale beside those times

with one four footed friend

this faux cow sits on Highway 12 on the way from Santa Rosa to Sebastopol on the north side of the highway. it's been there for a few years now and was created by the artist who has sculptures on Florence Street in Sebastopol. the scultures have a cartoony feel to them and are constructed with recycled things.

since this sculpture has been out standing in its field, I've noticed small calves nursing and other cows hobnobbing and cavorting with the faux cow. finally had a camera with me and caught a moment when the faux cow is spending some quality time with a couple of real cows. note the one real cow mimicing the faux cow by doing the same ear thing. also note that one of the cows has pulled off the front chest panel of the faux cow which is sitting on the ground.

double click on the picture for a larger version to see the detail such as the cow hiding behind the faux cow (she went back there and looked from under when I approached with camera).

Sonoma County Art, ya gotta love it - yeeeeeeeeeehaaaaaaaaaaaw.

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when the animal settlers yearned to celebrate
when they had the need to carouse and party hearty
When the cats had that urge to meow
they got their favorite dogs and got down

later people called it the first thanksgiving

all the humans would dress up

like the kitty cat settlers and doggy dog indians

it became a cult celebration

everybody loved it except the turkeys

hairku

hues caress canvas

hand guides hairs at end of stick

face gazes from minds eye