First it was fall, then it wasn't. Happy New Year



Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

A Regretful Death

Published in Cirque, Vol. 7, No. 2; 2016 www.cirquejournal.com by  Jerry Dale McDonnell Above the routine of the rasping, cutting sound of the crosscut saw the noise and demeanor of the late-September afternoon woods changed. We didn't immediately quantify the change. We just knew it changed. The odor of standing pine and fir, of sawdust and fresh cut wood, the light dampness of the air, the gurgling water in the creek dancing around rocks all remained, but something had changed. Even the camp robbing Gray jays in the trees were on alert.   Living in the woods, paying attention is just the way of things. Sounds, smells, clouds, the wind, changes in plants and trees, migration and habits of animals are like news on the radio. In the timber-pole corral our lead and riding horses were agitated, which is a blip on the radar. Joker, the smallest, but oldest and wisest horse of the herd snorted, laid its ears back briefly then spun and jumped to the other side of ...
Read more

Chilkoot Spring

Published: http://deadsnakes.blogspot.com/2016/01/jerry-dale-mcdonnell-three-poems.htm                                      by                       Jerry Dale McDonnell After a whiff of spring Snow slipped in. Don't tell anyone the treasure Is still there, lying bare. Yesterday it smelled Like woods’ walking. The martin resting on a log, giving Me a wink, bear awake, ridge riding. Eagle not taking wing as I glide by. The seals have returned to the bays. From the tree top Porcupine faking sad. On this spring day of sundry sun my Skis also seek a fool like me and bide me go. The treasure remains. Someone left the Vault door open for the pauper price of sweat. I will glide and stroke, Avoiding the overflow, Up the Taiya River along the famous Chilkoot Trail where thousands of ...
Read more

Crossroad Intersects

by            Jerry D. McDonnell                           Copyright©Jerry D. McDonnell, 2013 Published in Over The Transom #24, Dec. 2013     Like an intersection in a big city anywhere four Italian males in their late 20’s sat at Max’s restaurant down the block from the Curran Theater on Gerry Street, home of the Actors Conservatory Theater, actually on the corner of Geary and Mason Street, not that they’d been to the theater, but rather to a bar, or maybe more than one bar, not that they were Italy Italians but rather San Francisco Italians third generation and had never traveled in their over two decades of life even to the edge of the city limits in this city in which they had been born and raised and all were still living at home in flats in a neighborhood on the west slope of Nob Hill say like on Hyde Street with grandparents and great grandparents...
Read more