Archive for the ‘Photography’ Category
Broadbilled Hummingbird — Image by kenne
You say,
“It’s just another hummingbird day.”
But look—
a small green flame
hovering in the air
like a thought the world is having.
Every morning
the universe practices this trick:
wings faster than worry,
a heart beating like a tiny drum of praise.
Tell me again
what you mean
by ordinary.
— kenne
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Bluebird Preening on a Limb — Image by kenne
A bluebird, occupied with itself—
feather drawn through beak,
a ritual of care.
The image slips out of focus.
What should be a failure
is kept—
because the blur records
a life unwilling to be stilled.
— kenne
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Fiery Skipper Butterfly — Image by kenne
A butterfly no bigger
than a thumbprint
arrives in the yard
carrying sunlight
on its shoulders.
It rests on a flower
as the earth whispers:
Pay attention.
Even the smallest flame
was sent
to remind you
how to live.
— kenne
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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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Common Green Darner Dragonflies — Image by kenne
two green helicopters
hooked together
like they don’t give a damn
who’s watching.
the pond water barely moves.
a red-wing blackbird mouths off.
life keeps doing
what life does—
no speeches,
no apologies.
— kenne
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(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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Great Blue Heron Over the Sweetwater Wetlands — Image by kenne
A shadow slides across the marsh
before the bird arrives.
Long legs trailing,
neck folded like a question.
For a moment,
the wetlands remember
what this valley looked like
before water engineers showed up.
— kenne
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Mushroom in Pine Needles — Image by kenne
Under ponderosa shade
one pale cap
holding up
a whole sky of trees.
— kenne
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Sabino Sunrise — Image by kenne
Dawn spills over the mountains
and the giants wake.
Their shadows stretch like old cowboys
after a long night.
No hurry.
No apology.
Just another day
outlasting us all.
— kenne
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Anas’s Hummingbird On Our Patio in the Morning Light — Image by kenne
In the early light, the hummingbird pauses in air the way a thought pauses before becoming memory. Its throat flashes pink, then disappears again, as if the bird were deciding which version of itself to show the morning. I stand with my coffee and realize the patio has become a small stage, and this bright creature knows exactly when to arrive.
— kenne
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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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Cedar Waxwings Arrive Without Announcement — Image by kenne
Soft crests,
yellow-tipped tails—
a small northern fire.
We host them briefly.
The desert offers fruit,
water,
a resting branch.
Hospitality is an old law.
— kenne
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Cactus Art Image by kenne
A slight shift of angle—
the needles ignite.
So it is with the soul:
what guards the heart
can also shine.
— kenne
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A Sonoran Morning — Image by kenne
Bright sunlight, black tower, white sky.
The blades carve the morning into pieces.
Somewhere a tank fills,
somewhere a man believes
he has mastered this land.
But the wind owns the rhythm,
and the desert keeps the final say.
— kenne
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Soaptree Yacca — Image by kenne
Wind scrapes the flats raw.
The yucca holds its green knives
close to the bone of earth.
Bloom is rare.
That’s the point.
In this place
beauty is earned slowly.
— kenne
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