Sonoran Sunset -- Image by kenne
The mountains darken, but above them
red, orange, and yellow gather
like old spirits around a fire,
warming the vast desert silence
one final time before night.
Archive for the ‘Existential Moment’ Category
Another Beautiful Sonoran Sunset Leave a comment
I’m 85 8 comments
I’m eighty-five—
though the number sits beside me
more than inside me.
Some mornings I rise feeling sixty,
still curious, still willing to wander.
At night I dream in the language of thirty,
doors still opening, roads still unnamed.
And sometimes—without apology—
seventeen returns, grinning.
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Sonoran Blue Sky Leave a comment
Sonoran Blue Sky — Image by kenne
The sky lays itself down
across the mountains
like a second world—
blue poured into stone.
No sermon here,
just light telling rock
what it already knows.
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Bolivian Grandma with Grandchild 6 comments
Bolivian Grandma with Grandchild — Image by kenne
Your bowler hat sits
like a quiet defiance—
not loud, not pleading,
simply present.
The child leans into you,
a question not yet spoken:
Will I have to fight as you did?
You tighten the shawl—
your answer
is warmth.
— kenne
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Rose Lake Leave a comment
Rose Lake in the Catalina Mountains — Image by kenne
No fish yet.
Just ripples
counting time.
He listens—
water against water,
nothing wasted.
Line in,
mind out,
both drifting.
— kenne
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Pressing Against The Limits 1 comment
Pressing Against The Limits — Image by kenne
One does not “understand” this.
Understanding would reduce it,
make it manageable.
Instead, it asks for duration—
for the discipline
of staying with excess.
What emerges
is not a resolution
but a sharpened awareness
of how much
we need things
to mean one thing
at a time.
— kenne
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I Walk Beneath The Saguaros Leave a comment
Early Morning in Sabino Canyon — Image by kenne
Morning spills gold through the canyon.
A cactus lifts its arms
as if remembering a prayer.
I walk beneath it and hear
the quiet voice of Rumi:
The road you walk
is walking you home
— kenne
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Houston Blues Leave a comment
The Old Rhythm Room, Houston’s Washington Street (09/13/03) — Image by kenne
If you knew Houston blues, you knew that Washington Street had its share of stories. On that night twenty-two years ago, Mark May’s set was another chapter. In the dim light, you could see The Blues Hound and Jimmy “T-99” Nelson, figures who had witnessed the scene shift from the Chitlin’ Circuit days to modern club stages, still holding onto the music.
— kenne
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What Was Once Grasslands Leave a comment
(In November of 2012, Tom Markey and I posted an article, Ecocide Arizona Style — The Cow That Ate The West.
The article was about the disappearing water in the San Simon Valley in southeast Arizona. This poem suggest the verdict is in.)
Ecocide Arizona Style
The west is dying of thirst.
You can hear it in the cracked riverbeds,
in cottonwoods gone skeletal,
in the silence where frogs used to sing.
The Colorado staggers,
a vein opened too long,
bled for lawns,
for swimming pools,
for another desert empire of cul-de-sacs.
This is not drought—
this is the verdict.
We were warned,
and we kept on building
as if the sky were infinite.
Mark it well:
when the last drop dries,
sand covers the southwest,
the desert will not mourn us.
It will simply
take itself back.
— kenne
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Moon Over The Double Bayou Leave a comment
Moon Over The Double Bayou — Image by kenne
Moon over the bayou—
cypress knees listening
to slow water.
Somewhere, a night bird
knows the old stories
and keeps them.
Couples turning slowly
under crooked rafters.
Pete Mayes’ band doesn’t rush—
blues knows better.
Every chord says
the night’s still young
if your heart
can hold the rhythm.
— kenne
A Night At The Dance Hall — Photo-Artistry by kenne
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Storm Clouds Over the Mountains 2 comments
Storm Clouds Over The Mountains — Image by kenne
Thunder far away
like a drum
warming up.
The desert waits—
patient as stone—
for the first drop
to strike the dust
and turn it
into hope.
— kenne
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The Presence Of The Reaven 3 comments
Reaven In The Desert — Image by kenne
I have distrusted symbols
most of my life,
yet there it is—
black wings over sand
that has forgotten rain.
The bird does not promise rescue.
It promises presence.
In the desert,
that distinction matters.
— kenne
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Most of My Friends Are No Longer Here 1 comment
Most of my friends are no longer here.
I keep their numbers
in a phone that will never ring.
It is a holy thing,
this absence—
like a door left open
to a room I cannot enter
but refuse to close.
— kenne
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San Carlos Sunset Leave a comment
San Carlos, Sonora Sunset — Image by kenne
We become a silhouette in each other’s arms
as the sun goes down behind us in San Carlos—
the light withdrawing slowly
like a hand from a blessing.
All afternoon the Sea of Cortez
glittered without mercy.
I can’t see your face anymore,
only the outline of us—
two dark figures pressed together
against the last blaze of day.
It feels ancient, this vanishing—
as if love is something
the sun teaches by leaving.
— kenne
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Kenne David’s Half-Marathon At 51 Leave a comment
This was Dave’s first half-marathon, with the goal of running the distance in two hours or less.
The race organizers provided pacesetters, so Dave began his half-marathon staying with the 2:00 hour pacesetter.
About halfway through the race, he picked up his pace, running the race in 1:55.20.
Finish Line
Sitting on his tailgate at the end of the race.
Mission Accomplished.
Shoes on pavement,
a metronome of doubt.
Still, the body insists—
one more mile
into light.
I created the blog posting using the photos Dave provided. I was only there vicariously.
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AFTER THOUGHT
The friend who asked Dave to run the half-marathon with him didn’t show up.
