I’d let you go.
untouched unseen
Faded dull,
became your sheen
With lack of heed
your jeweled patine
tarnished
green
by envies course
We shared this view
As longed for each
To blush
again so soon
To strip you down
with oiled scents
callous hands
massaged back
Smooth
Though done before
caressed and buffed
Polished
once more
to all your splendor
We’ll let them know
We share this
Bond
By winning
First in show
~Outdoors2 5/08
With a swift crack of the crop
He neighs as he rears and hoofs come down hard.
Pounding the ground ‘thump’ with a thunderous bolt.
Faster than the grasshoppers among Timothy grass.
Yah!! She yells and he bucks a wicked once.
He continues his stride longer and faster
as she grabs his mane tighter with screams
Yah!! Yah!!
to where they are headed is with out a care
but the ride is the limits, if limits were there
Faster!, Faster!
Till all bristles are straight. As if a paint brush
quickly readying to stroke virgin canvas
This portrait of ecstasy is done by a master
The clods that he scours, fly by in a flash
the few that have circled are on their way back
Yah!! Yah!!
He jumps in his canter, as he’s off on this dash.
She pitches to the left as the gritty balls fly,
then back to the right to avoid her sweet sighs.
The river ahead will clean them up well!
The moisture of sweat slipstreaming her thighs.
He slows to a trot,
As the river is thick, overflowing its banks.
She releases his cape in a unparalleled quench.
He kneels down as if bow, then her legs cast away.
They shiver the calmness, after this ride of midday
~Outdoors2 5/08
Chili ’s not made with all measures of which,
But dashes of that and handfuls of this.
Big chunks of onion and plenty of sauce,
Squeezed to extract and steeped in the rue
Tomatoes chopped up and and pushed in to stew
Add cumin not spooned but shook with a shake
The most cayenne also that your stomach can take
The mushrooms are thrown from the woods to the pot
Just a half jig of ‘basco, to get her plenty hot
So slice up the sausage and grind up beef too
This brew will be ready in an hour or two
Still the true test will come as it sits and melds sin
Tomorrow’s guarantee? You’ll have to stay in…;P
~Outdoors2
We gather at Joe’s on a crisp October morning, Coffee for most. Beer for some. The `man’ hug shared among the core. We chat about what chainsaw needs sharpening, who has the percosets (for laters back relief), the deer in the field, which log pile to start on and who’s position is who’s at the splitter.It starts out with three or four `supervisors’ (usually the beer drinkers) directing the mass confusion and stumbling around trying to help the roughshod process turn into a smooth running, orchestrated production. After the initial burst of enthusiasm things settle in and each finds their own spot among the group and accepts the designated or perceived position that needs their filling. The day wears on as we each relinquishes the worn out soldier from the strenuous task they, too, had taken over from the one before him. Lunch brings a long awaited break from the chore that we never prepare for. Moaning and groans, bandages replaced, war stories told about the log that almost… the finger…the toe! All smile at the mornings accomplishment. Each knowing the necessity to keep the winter stoves stoked will cost these little scars. Break time passes and few head off to football practice, the tree stand, shopping whatever other life deed needs to be done this fall day. Besides, wearing oneself out from each years ritual. The core continues on..a well tuned, greased machine is all that remains now. The rhythm goes unbroken as switching eachs’ task, is a premonition known far in advance, before failure in this chain of events. The last pile dwindles quickly, as the remains are cleaned up and every odd piece is put through the mill, Finding it’s fate eventually on the stack. The field is scanned again for the evening feeders, the saws gathered up, stray files found, Tailgates put up, a pat on the back and the final Man hug given.
~Outdoors2 5/08
Thanks, Rachel …be whole now
Been There !
I’m from the oceans
or is it the seas
could be the valleys
a deep side of me
I’m scattered on plains
cast far across rows
or is it the prairie
where my soul blows
I’m born out of springs
trickled from earth
might be the rivers
which I am birthed
I’m an ort of granite
from mountain so wide
but soft as the magma
deep down inside
I’m bayous and swamps
a quag to be mired
stalled to a halt
mossed beauty admired
I’m wherever You are
You’re one in the same
whoever you are
whatever Your name
Care not where
nor what you were then
Who you are now
means more than you’ve been
~ RRS ~ Outdoors2 4/08
If I was coming off fast
and my love of it, was pure
The best of the best
would be…
what I wanted for sure
Each of us has our own
So to recommend isn’t fair
just get what you’ve been missing
I just know that you’ll care
The test of time will have taken
it’s toll on your tongue
If only you knew
of what my fasting is from
Mine wasn’t Chocolate or Honey
tho sweet it is true
My restrictions were of
the wonderful tasting of …You
~Me
~~~*~~~
© ~RRS, ~Outdoors2
Artwork by…Kuryosity
a Tree and a River
Role reversals as they grow
The need for each other is always there, Always supporting the other whether the water is brushing the roots or not. The River gives life to the Tree with it’s nourishment and the Trees’ root strength confine the River to its banks. When the River swells the Tree may topple, But certainly clinging to the banks with the tiniest threads for self preservation, knowing if it is plucked from the earth and cast off it is nevermore. The Tree stays close enough to the source of nourishment so it can still survive with minuscule effort and care from the River. Still the Tree holds on, not to succumb to the torrential waters as they erode away the slopes. Then through time, refreshment and reflection, the Tree starts to rebuild, renew with a rebirth. Not as it was. But stronger now that it’s previous branches take hold the silt and burrow to grasp deeper. Still fully aware this very well could be it’s last chance, For another storm of greater intensity would surely carry it to the tangled jam below. With nothing but confusion among its mass. Slowly the Tree will grow strong again with the fulfillment of its need from the River. As the River stays within it’s course and strays not from its channel with the myriad of the Trees new growth, expansion and strength.Till the damn Logger comes and shreds all hope
~RRS, ~Outdoors2 2/08
One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice–
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
“Mend my life!”
each voice cried.
But you didn’t stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do–
determined to save
the only life you could save.
–Mary Oliver–
Artwork..Pierre-Auguste-Renoir
He was a mutt of grandest of champs
no one would give litter a look
my uncle gave in and brought home his sis
Smokie they named her
as black and white mixed on her coat
My Dad took her in as we sat by the fire
Said she’s of pure in the heart
I remember the thought
as my dream of one’s sought
My pal would soon be coming my way
Dad took uncle Jeff to the breeder of sorts
Got there as quick as he could
Only one male for this little tale
and Dad wanted nothing of pups
With such a relief and smile on his face
Daddy came back with my pal
We grew as a pair as he was always there
my buddy my friend and “My Champ”
We hunted all over for pheasant and fowl
thru briars and brush without fail
my buds would call him a pain, cause he
would knock over drinks with his tail
He would bolt for the smell
of which I’ll not tell
and come back
when he was tired and through
But faithful was he, to be by my side
Big “Blue” was his name and
there’ll never be same (sigh)
and when he did pass….forever I’ll cry
©~RRS ~ Outdoors2
Thanks, Luci
Image by… Antti Saraja
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