Yellow Salsify seeds — Image by kenne
Before the leaves have turned,
before the mountains
have lost their summer haze,
the salsify knows.
Its seeds rise
into the cooling air,
announcing a season
the rest of us
have not yet noticed.
Archive for the ‘Poetry’ Category
Yellow Salsify Seed Heads Leave a comment
Not Just Another Sunset Leave a comment
Image by kenne
The sun descends behind
the western mountains,
yet leaves behind
a kingdom of light.
Clouds become banners
of gold and scarlet.
The desert floor glows softly,
as though illuminated
from within.
Not just another sunset—
but a Tucson evening,
where earth and sky
exchange their vows once more
before the coming night.
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Song of the Butterfly 1 comment
Orange Sulphur On a Mexican Bird of Paradise — Image by kenne
Song of the Butterfly
(In the Style of Walt Whitman)
I celebrate the Orange Sulphur!
I celebrate the yellow wanderer,
resting for a moment upon
the red and gold extravagance
of the Mexican Bird of Paradise.
Not hurried,
not troubled by clocks or calendars,
it pauses in the desert sunlight,
its wings holding the color of ripe lemons,
of dawn breaking over distant mountains.
O small traveler!
You belong to the flowers,
to the wind,
to the same vast earth
that bears the mountains and the sea.
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Not Enough Time To Capture All The Moments 2 comments
Japanese School Boy in Okinawa (1967) — Image by kenne
Photograph
Northern Okinawa.
A schoolboy sits
beside the road.
My camera clicks
takes his image,
but not the sound
of insects,
not the warmth
of the island air,
not the generations
who walked these roads
before him.
Still—
for an instant,
his life
and mine
cross paths
through a lens,
and the mountains
witness both.
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No Drama In This Sky Leave a comment
Santa Catalina Mountains — Image by kenne
No drama in this sky,
no thunder, no blaze—
just a quiet occupation
of white under gray.
The mountain breathes slowly
under its coverlet of cloud.
And something in me
loosens,
as if certainty were never
the point at all.
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Southern Dogface Butterfly 2 comments
Southern Dogface On A Mexican Bird of Paradise — Image by kenne
A butterfly lands,
and for one perfect moment
the flower is still.
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Pincushion Cactus Art Leave a comment
Pincushion Cactus Art — By kenne
I have walked on these trails
a hundred times
and frequently do not notice
the little cactus flowering
beside the trail.
Today I stop.
The mountains are still mountains.
Monsoon rains have added water
to the normally dry wash.
The sun is already warming
the canyon walls.
But something has changed.
Not the desert.
My attention.
And perhaps that is
one of the quiet gifts
a place can give us—
to make us look again.
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What the Desert Keeps 2 comments
What the Desert Keeps — Image by kenne
Tonight the desert is orange
from mountain ridge to wash,
as though the day
had broken open
and spilled its last handful of gold.
The creosote keeps its dark leaves.
The saguaro keeps its scars.
The old cottonwood keeps its shadow.
Nothing asks to be rescued.
The land has learned
what we are slow to learn:
to receive the light,
to give it back,
and to remain.
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Anna’s Hummingbird at Patio Feeder Leave a comment
Anna’s Hummingbird at Our Patio Feeder — Image by kenne
She hovers, then drinks—
a drop of sweetness vanishes,
the feeder swings on.
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Hibiscus Morning Leave a comment
Hibiscus Blossom on Our Patio — Image by kenne
Hibiscus Morning
This morning
the hibiscus opened
its scarlet face
to the sun.
No hesitation.
No rehearsal.
Just a quiet unfolding
from green bud
to impossible gold.
I stood beside it
with my coffee,
thinking of all the things
I postpone,
all the things
I wait to become.
The flower said nothing.
It simply bloomed.
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Rainbow Over Tanuri Ridge Leave a comment
Rainbow Over Tanuri Ridge (08/17/26) — Image by kenne
The Rainbow
My heart leaps up when I behold
A rainbow in the sky:
So was it when my life began;
So is it now I am a man;
So be it when I shall grow old,
Or let me die!
The Child is father of the Man;
I could wish my days to be
Bound each to each by natural piety.
A rainbow in the sky:
So was it when my life began;
So is it now I am a man;
So be it when I shall grow old,
Or let me die!
The Child is father of the Man;
I could wish my days to be
Bound each to each by natural piety.
— William Wordsworth
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Eastern Arizona Sky 2 comments
Sandhill Cranes Migrating North From Southern Arizona (February 2026) — Image by kenne
Eastern Arizona Sky
White Mountains
far beyond sight.
The birds know.
Across the broad sky
their voices stitch
one season
to another.
No ceremony.
Just wings,
breath,
and the long road
of air.
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Red Sky At Sunset Leave a comment
Image by kenne
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I See Stories 1 comment
Collage by kenne (2/1/04)
When I look closely
at this collage,
I see more than faces.
I see stories
crossing like trails
through a forest.
Agnes—
the beginning of many things.
Kate—
a branch reaching outward.
Katelyn—
a blossom opening
to its own season.
The years separate them,
yet they will always be one
as naturally as trees
sharing the same earth.
Perhaps this is what photographs
are trying to teach us:
that time moves on,
yes—
but love keeps gathering,
adding one more face,
one more memory,
one more hand
to hold.
And if we are fortunate,
someone will someday
look at our picture
and feel the warmth
still shining there.
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Great Blue Heron In The Sweetwater Wetlands 5 comments
Great Blue Heron — Image by kenne
The wetlands wake slowly.
A coot leaves a trail across the water.
A breeze rattles the reeds.
Somewhere beyond the ponds, traffic begins
its daily argument with distance.
Then the blue heron rises.
His wings gather the morning light,
not brightly, not proudly—
just enough to reveal the strength
hidden inside feathers.
He moves over Sweetwater
the way memory moves through a life,
touching one place, then another,
never fully landing.
When he disappears behind the mesquite,
the silence he leaves behind
feels larger than the sky.
