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
Archive for the ‘Poetry’ Category
They Arrive Without Announcement 2 comments
Cactus Art 2 comments
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 Leave a comment
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 Leave a comment
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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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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In Honor of Georgia O’Keeffe Leave a comment
Golden Columbine — Image by kenne
On black
the gold grows louder.
Each curve deliberate,
each throat of light
a doorway inward.
Look long enough
and the flower
becomes landscape.
— kenne
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Great Blue Heron 1 comment
Great Blue Heron — Image by kenne
Golden eye
tracking light on scales.
No hurry in him—
only weather,
only patience
older than bridges upstream.
The river keeps moving.
He does not.
— 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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Phainopepla 1 comment
Male Phainopepla High in a Mesquite Tree — Image by kenne
The phainopepla sits in the mesquite
like a drop of ink that refused to dry.
My naturalist mentor would say
some creatures are born already knowing
how to keep their shine.
When it lifts,
white flashes beneath its wings—
a secret lining
only shown in motion.
— kenne
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Spring Flowers In The Catalina Foothills 4 comments
Wildflowers In The Catalina Foothills — Image by kenne
Catalina foothills—
poppies flare in the gravel wash,
lupine stitching nitrogen
back into the lean soil.
Rock, root, bee—
no wasted motion.
Wind off the Santa Catalinas
combs the grass
and the flowers bow
without complaint.
— kenne
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The Butterfly’s Tail Flickers In Blue Ember 1 comment
Gray Hairstreak on Desert Marigold — Image by kenne
So small—
and yet the marigold bends
as if honored.
The butterfly’s tail
flickers a blue ember.
I have lived long enough
to know
that such brightness
arrives without warning
and leaves the same way.
Still, it is here.
That is enough.
— kenne
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Birdbird In Flight 2 comments
Bluebird in Flight Abstract by kenne
the bluebird
there’s a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I’m too tough for him,
I say, stay in there,I’m not going
to let anybody see
you.
there’s a bluebird in my heart that
ants to get out
but I pour whiskey on him and inhale
cigarette smoke
and the whores and the bartenders
and the grocery clerks
never know that
he’s
in there.
there’s a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I’m too tough for him,
I say, stay down, do you want to mess
me up?
you want to screw up the
works?
you want to blow my book sales in
Europe?
there’s a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I’m too clever, I only let him out
at night sometimes
when everybody’s asleep.
I say, I know that you’re there,
so don’t be
sad.
then I put him back,
but he’s singing a little
in there, I haven’t quite let him
die
and we sleep together like
that
with our
secret pact
and it’s nice enough to
make a man
weep, but I don’t
weep…
do you?
— Charles Bukowski
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Cooper’s Hawk 6 comments
Cooper’s Hawk in the Patio Olive Tree Near the Bird Feeder– Image by kenne
The feeder is our promise to small lives.
The hawk is the answer we cannot control.
When he drops—swift, inevitable—
the air itself seems to close.
Afterward, the patio is ordinary again,
except for the silence that lingers.
— kenne
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Natures Synbolism Leave a comment
Saguaro Sunrise — Image by kenne
Saguaro cactus at sunrise—
you say endurance,
beauty against all odds.
I see a drunk saint
full of needles
hoarding water like secrets.
The sun bleeds out behind it
without apology.
If there’s a lesson there,
it’s that even the harshest thing
knows how to bloom
when it has to.
— kenne
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Props, Not A Habit Leave a comment
On the Outer Banks of North Carolina
I keep the cigar lit
long enough to feel dangerous.
The whiskey glows
like a small sunset
I can hold.
But when the glass is empty
and the scene is still there,
I know—
it was always theater.
— kenne
