Tuesday, August 6, 2019
This book came together as many things have for me, pushing forward, calling my name. It has in fact, been yelling at me for a while now. While I was working on a public poetry event in San Luis Obispo in March of 2019, the form emerged and I was able to lead all of her pages to one place.
Being a writer is probably not ever a comfortable thing, closer perhaps to having an inner dragon who, huffs and blows fire, wafts around the ether somewhat out of control, but is later able to befriend you and take you for the occasional sweet ride.
The animals, the land, and the ocean of the Central Coast of California are the heart that beats within this book. My own poetry, prose and photography have become both the letter that I write to myself and one I sing to this special place. The act of bringing them together and setting them free in the world was apparently the only way to get the ticket to the next literary expedition.
Not perhaps evident initially, the constants are the patterns, the textures, the often invisibles that connect us to each other as humans to humans, but also humans to animals and finally animals and humans to the earth/sea space we call home here.
It is personal. It is not personal.
I believe the work will allow for deep dives, light moments, and resting places, where you might pause and look up to the clouds, hear the wind, smell the grassy field, or take off your shoes and feel the actual earth or walk in the waters. It also might draw your eyes
to see the patterns that only you can see, right at your feet.
Morning Fog on the Back Bay
A fine grey veil
lifts in a single sheet
from the surface of the water.
Vapor rising, aspiring to cloud,
falling back onto itself.
A thin ribbon of mist,
laying quietly again upon the bay.
How often of a morning,
have I too,
tried to lift myself
pull of the deep water,
the dark sea,
and found myself instead
waiting to be evaporated into sky.
Los Osos, California
Beyond The Coyotes
Nothing is beyond the Coyotes in the night
calling and pulling me to their party.
I envy their revelry of time,
held only by the scent ahead,
the feast at their feet.
Shedding my human skin
I find my way up the mountain
and sit by the remnants of the fire.
My heart howls.
Without my body I know peace.
Dying or singing with coyotes...
Contemplations on the Irish Hills
Los Osos, California
Now available on Amazon.
(BOOKS: HIGH RAIN - Love Letters to the Central Coast )
August 6, 2019