Ranch Bones


w

Skull

 

Years of bones piled up.  Cattle–calves, yearlings, the old–heaped 100 yards

northeast of the ranch house, upwind from the summer, southwest prevailing

winds.  Mostly black baldies, a few Charolais.  Old bones bleached white,

disintegrated.  Some new bloated bodies rotting, nauseating.  Others just sundried

hide stretched over skeletons.  Drug here by tractor, the dead.  Shipping fever, parasites,

drought, extreme weather.

 

A ranch’s history written in bones.

Modern Literature


Gaden’s quiet.  Normally he is shouting, asking questions to which he knows the answers.

I’m thinking, “He must be sick.”

Today he is sitting quietly, feet splayed out, short ginger hair sticking out exactly like Alfalfa’s, chin balanced on his left hand, staring at the silver Apple laptop open on his desk.

We’re reading modern stories in English, stories by Kelly Link, Kevin Barry, Adam Marek, Sarah Hall, Jon McGregor, Jennifer Egan.

Ghosts, robot boyfriends, fake lovers, bull semen distributors.

Astonished reactions, “We get to read adult stories with cuss words!”

They’re seniors in high school, 17, 18, 19.

Two are pregnant; one’s a dad.

 

 

Sacred


Warm summer raindrops on my face

Crimson cardinal drinking in blue birdbath

Feather grass waving in the wind

Last lavender and white iris before first frost

Cups of coffee from Chiapas at 6 in the morning

The sunning rattlesnake lying by my feet

Horses running wild and free

Facebook messages from friends far away

Waterfall’s roar after the thunderstorm

Night songs–coyote, cricket, nighthawk, frogs, hoot owl

Life

Sunday Sunrise ©Dawn Wink

 

Barbie Doll


This poem praises my mother.  It is page 17 of my memoir in poems, “On the Rim of Wonder”.  It seems appropriate to republish it here for Mother’s Day.

 

Barbara Lewis Duke, pretty, petite, blue-eyed, and blond, my mother,

one fearless, controlling woman.  Long after Mom’s death, Dad said,

“Barbara was afraid of absolutely no one and nothing.”  They married

late:  34 and 38.  He adored her unconditionally.  She filled my life

with horses, music, love, cornfields, hay rides, books, ambition.  Whatever

she felt she had missed, I was going to possess:  books, piano lessons, a

college education.  Her father, who died long before I was born, loved fancy,

fast horses.  So did she.  During my preschool, croupy years, she quieted my

hysterical night coughing with stories of run away horses pulling her

in a wagon.  With less than 100 pounds and lots of determination, she

stopped them, a tiny Barbie Doll flying across the Missouri River Bottom,

strong, willful, free.

Modern Politics and Sor Juana Ines de la Cruz


Who would think that a Mexican woman who wrote poetry more than three hundred years ago would have anything applicable to today’s political arena?  About one and one half years ago, my daughter returned from a business trip with a little gift, a translation of Sor Juana’s work.  It is not the sort of literature I sit down and read all the way through.  It is deep, questioning, the sort of literature you savor here and there.  A few minutes ago I opened the book once again to read one of her ballads–typically referred to as romances.   However, this is not exactly a romance.  It reads:

“One who is sad criticizes

the happy man as frivolous;

and one who is happy derides

the sad man and his suffering.

 

The two philosophers of Greece

offered perfect proofs of this truth;

for what caused laughter in one man

occasioned tears in another.

 

The contradiction has been framed

for centuries beyond number,

yet which of the two ways was correct

has so far not been determined;

 

instead, into two factions

all people have been recruited,

temperament dictating which

band each person will adhere to.”

 

This is only a small portion of the ballad.  It is ballad 2 in the translation by Edith Grossman.  The introduction to the book is by one of my favorite authors (I have read all her books published to date), Julia Alvarez.

 

 

Saturday Night


Read two pages,

“Ghana Must Go”.

The wife’s Nigerian,

Yoruba, Igbo.

She sells flowers,

not in Nigeria.

The author’s name

Ethiopian?

Sip zinfandel

flowered glass.

Take a bite

chocolate filled

peppermint,

lick peppermint

fingers.

Read two pages:

“Africans…the indifference of the abundantly blessed…

who can’t accept, even with evidence, that anything native,

occurring in abundance, is exceptional without effort,

has value.”

Does anyone?

 

IMG_1584

 

 

 

Four Reasons We Need To Reclaim The Power of the Divine Feminine Now by Mary Petiet


Why is the divine feminine so important? What does it promote that values others, our planet? This says everything I could have said myself.

Guest Contributor's avatarFeminism and Religion

Mary Petiet photo(Spoiler alert:  She’s already here)

The power of the divine feminine taps into the power of life. The power is accessible to everyone as the equal opportunity energy surrounding and connecting all living things. The power is ancient, and meditative practices such as yoga, which in Sanskrit means linking to the divine, can connect us to this power. When we make the connection, we find the balance we need to realize our highest selves, and through that balance we can realize the highest self of the larger society.  To reclaim the divine feminine, we need only remember, and as more and more of us remember, we heal first ourselves, and ultimately the planet.

1. She is the route back to the self.

In her mother aspect the divine feminine offers a route back to the self and She is all-inclusive. She embraces all of creation, men, women and nature, and we…

View original post 501 more words

#ImWithHer: Excuse Me, I’m Listening—to Her by Marie Cartier


This post states about everything I myself could say on this subject. People vote how they vote for a wide variety of reasons. I vote on social issues. Often voters fail to realize that, like it or not, we are intricately part of a global economy. What occurs even in some remote part of the world affects everyone else, economically as well as socially.

Marie Cartier's avatarFeminism and Religion

marie kimMy wife and I attended a panel discussion last Sunday with Chelsea Clinton, the daughter of the Democratic nominee presidential hopeful, Senator Hillary Rodham Clinton. Chelsea was accompanied by the famous and beloved Superstore and former Ugly Betty star, America Ferrera and also uber- television entrepreneurial juggernaut, Lena Dunham , creator and star of Girls. The event was meant to highlight that millennials, particularly female millennials, are supporting Hillary Clinton. Obviously the event was meant to counteract the prevailing media notion that millennials are not supporting Hillary—whether or not they are female. And certainly some millennials are not—but, as this event pointed out, many are.

Ferrera opened and talked about her immigrant parents saying that she would not have been able to receive an arts education if not for someone like Hillary fighting for better public schools. She was one of the children who needed the free lunches, coming…

View original post 1,865 more words