Fiery Skipper Butterfly — Image by kenne
— kenne
Cooper’s Hawk in the Patio Olive Tree Near the Bird Feeder– Image by kenne
— kenne
Monsoon Rain Clouds as Soon from Our Patio (August) — Image by kenne
— kenne
Duende speaks without permission — Image by kenne
— kenne
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vI72kyy2Ius&list=RDvI72kyy2Ius&start_radio=1
Gila Woodpecker — Photo-artistry by kenne
Gila Woodpecker
comes in loud,
like a drunk at noon,
runs the little birds off,
takes what isn’t his—
sweet red from
the humminbird glass.
I don’t blame him.
world’s built that way—
noise wins,
beauty keeps its distance.
still,
I raise my coffee,
to the bastard.
— kenne
Patio Nightlight — Image by kenne
— kenne
Smiling Sun On the Wall — Photo-artistry by kenne
— kenne
Â
Home Entrance — Image by kenne
Other Side Of The Rainbow
— kenne
Anna’s Hummingbird, I Think — Image by kenne
Hummingbirds and the Angle of Light
— kenne
Hose Bib — Image by kenne
Hose Bib Metaphor of Life
— kenne
Bougainvillea Time of The Year — Image by kenne
— kenne
Â
Friends (Malcum & Kenne) — 08/28/13
Cutting in Each Other’s Words
(in the mode of Ken Nordine)
yeah—
we’re talking over each other again,
syncopated speech,
cross-talk jazz.
no dead crows here, man—
only squirrels,
laid out like soft punctuation
between the lines of the road.
the rhythm hums in static,
somewhere between truth and static,
between your thought
and mine—
cutting in,
cutting out,
like we both forgot
who’s holding the solo.
Late-Autumn Glow On Our Patio by kenne
Late-Autumn Glow
Rainbow with a Tucson Flare — Image by kenne
Rainbow with a Tucson Flare
It arrived like a verdict—
that rainbow—
arched over Tucson’s broken breath,
a spectrum laid upon a land
too used to drought
and good intentions gone brittle.
People came out with phones,
hungry for wonder,
proof that heaven still had
a marketing department.
The rain had barely quit falling,
and already
the city’s thirst began again—
for color,
for meaning,
for something to share.
Out by the wash,
the saguaros
kept their arms raised,
not in praise,
but interrogation.
Each thorn a question
no sermon could answer.
The rainbow lingered,
a flag without allegiance,
a bruise across the sky.
Then—
light slipped,
the air forgot its promise,
and Tucson returned
to its long work
of surviving beauty.
Cloudless Sulphur Butterfly on A Bird of Paradise — Image by kenne
Yellow butterfly,
its wings flicker
like thighs parting.
The flower trembles,
stamens sticky,
pollen dust falling,
sweet stink of heat.
Butterfly enters the flower,
slow as the insect’s tongue
sliding into nectar.
The air itself
quivers,
a humming body,
a wet mouth,
a raw opening.
Sunlight hard on the skin,
sweat dripping,
everything exposed.
The butterfly lifts—
nothing holy,
nothing profane,
just wings,
just hunger,
just flight.
