SIDES

 

Did you appreciate the shade?

I did my part today

Any good walnut tree would

The sun, then high in arc, has passed on

Now, low, near done

It highlights my undersides

 

Look up

Try a different angle

I have colors to show

Should you notice

 

 

DRK

10/11/20

7/21/23

 

 THE PELICAN PATROL*

cruises the gut,

gliding,
    steady as she goes,
heads erect,
eyes low,
looking for
shore life breaking the law.

Silent monitors,
    eye-in-the-sky radar,
reporting, for all I know,
with CBs, cell phones or
hush-hush devices not yet available
in the stores.

The pelican patrol

cruises for guts,

fannies and more --
old yankee candles
burning both ends
flirting with heat,
sunburns -- 
    excesses provoking 
Mother Nature’s immutable
sunshine laws.

Merciless messengers,
no guardian angels these,
pelicans plead no one’s cases --
    burn, baby, burn;
just do their surveillance
then return to their roosts
    and place in the sun.

DRK
3/24/11

* In Lansing, MI, when young people drive their cars up and down the main drag, looking for whatever young people look for, they call it "Cruising the gut."  

 

HIKING YELLOWSTONE

Our guided group hiked a mountain wood

Some to learn

Some for solitude

We followed our guide

Up the continental divide

         Where east-flowing rivers went north

         And west-flowing rivers went south

And down

         Through competitive strata of spruce and lodgepole pines,

         Darwinian winners in the ecology of fire

We were told the hikes would be flat

We were not told, compared to climbing ladders

She shared her expertise

And ecological lore

About calderas, buffalo wallows

And aeries --

         Was that an osprey

         Or just another raven?

Heat stressed fish

And creel kill,

The sixth kingdom, archaea,

Pictographs and fire strikes,

Obsidian, travertine, rhyolite

         And sinter. 

Signs insisted:

         DO NOT ENTER

Fumaroles, geysers, pools and mud pots

         Steamed,

Warming and warning

Those who stopped

         STAY ON THE WALKWAY

From time to time a stray would forge ahead

Or lag behind

To admire a bed

Of Fringed Gentian

Then bend low

To photograph western mistletoe --

         Less intent on learning about mountains

         As from them

Our newly alerted imaginations

were stirred by nature’s wordless lessons

          Whispering creeks pointed uphill

           To unseen waterfalls

         Swaying pines, their coniferous boughs

         And sunlight in a whirl

         Spoke of this brave old world,

                  Whose ages of sharing

         Now prompt unsettled stirrings about caring

Mother Nature, author, teacher

Surrounded us with her wisdom

Here long before we came

And maybe long past when our children come

Dennis R. Keefe

October 6, 2004

May 30, 2016

 

Ain’t We Got fun

In The Mornin’

                         

Newspapers, bagged and looped

o’er my ‘47 Schwinn,

pedaling east on a paper route 

I encountered a mountainside

bordering my Minnesota prairie town.                                        

The sun, about to rise, would

light this ersatz phenomenon,

expose its prairie absurdity

and shoo it off with the morning dew.   

I had to hurry to cruise its

short-lived vistas

and exotic avenues.

In The Evenin’          

Seated, wearied, in a western hotel bar,

we watched a Wasatch evening Alpenglow.

Sunlight crept up the mountainside

as the evening lifted the day away.                      

A sequence of hillside nighttime lights ensued,

featuring a red

flashing “U,” which . . . they said

meant the Utes

had won another game.

Celebrating, we ordered another round, the same.

                                                                                   

In the Meantime, In Between Time

From a low swale of creek-cooled air,

and damp-enhanced aromas

of magnolia, pine and pulp mill sulphur,

a wrist twist sent my Honda responding.

Its twin cylinder cycle vibes

thrust me up the far side

of the road dividing Georgia’s red clay earth

into the evening’s displaced warmth.

Ain’t We Got Fun.

Dennis R. Keefe

March 23, 2009 

"Ain't We got Fun," 1921.  Music, Richard A. Whiting.  Lyrics, Raymond B. Egan and Gus Kahn.

 

 

SPACE ETUDE

 

A summer breeze stirred the boughs

of a Douglas fir

and scented the shade settling from above

while from our feet,

         cascading down,

a hillside of grape vines

advertised

years of cultivated love. 

 

Crosswinds of charcoal-seared aromas

         teased noses

                  with picnic promises,

while the circling host and hostess

         decanted vineyard hospitality.

 

The day’s camaraderie, once stirred,

seemed to parade

lingering first at the baby’s crib

then, circling, radiated outward

to the perimeter.

 

At moonrise

         solar lamps directed

the darkening, angled

         walk back

         down

between tangled

         vines and lives.

 

 

Thanks to the Gladharts

Dennis R. Keefe

September 21, 2004

 

 THE LAST BIRD WORDS


The roll was taken from the porch,
    in whispers,
of those who came to our backyard vespers.

Neighborhood redbirds
and red breasts arrived
with the slipping evening light
to claim their first-come, first-served
roosting rights.

An evening duel ensued
o’er who would have
the last bird words.

The redbirds, last at the feeder,
    chirped it shut for the night,
but couldn’t out-wait
the robins’
slow, drawn out antiphons,
    warbling down from the trees,
    trailing silence through the leaves.

These psalm-like prayers
prompted  "Amens"
from those below
not too busy to care
    who sang when
        or if the last solar lantern
            came on before ten.


Dennis R. Keefe, 9/30/12

 

THE WOODS

Were there with trees

Paths, deer

Just there

Until a breeze

Took our hands

And led us away

From the noise

Sirens, bikes, buses, trains

Highway roar, trucks, gunshots and cars

Took their leave

This, we realized

Is what the family came to vacation from

And what we all thanked Carole for

Here is more

Barothy’s manicured Michigan retreat

Lodges

Ponds, river

And islands

A favorite harbored geese

Peacocks, ducks and a swan

Waddling, hissing

Do not tread on

Our gaggle space

The woods were there

With opportunities

Kids commandeered the hot tub

And pools

One with water

The other, a table

Billiard balls and cues

In the evenings

A board game crowd

Loud

During the day

Ponds with fish

Nibblers, smallish

Caught our kids

Magnificent uncles

Eased nephews and nieces

Into the icky fishy tasks

To catch and release

Tennis?  Basketball anyone?

Playing catch?

Coaches and players

All available

Watch Zander demonstrate

His behind-the-back dribble

The woods were there with the Pere

Marquette

A Keefe Kamp Kayak Crew

Took a river tour

Launching one at a time

Heading to the bank

Directly across to sort through

What paddles do

And how to head down stream

Meanwhile

Captain Aaron

Drifted Meme and Papa

Down the river to see

An eagle, its aerie

And an early salmon run

Frequent pauses 

A trout try or two

But mostly

Two with son

Were you an early riser?

Did you turn off the overhead fan?   

Or the fireplace on?

Help start the coffee?

Wait quietly

As the morning excitement wandered down

One by one?

A few slept in

(They know who they are)

Their rule:

What you do, or don’t do

On vacation

Need not be an issue before noon

The woods were there with bees

Blake, stung among the flowers

At the swimming pool

Tried his seven-year-old best

To keep his cool

Evening cocktail hours, for sure

On the back porch overlooking the river

Look down to see 

Who is fishing today

Or out front under a nest of mourning doves

Fledglings, perched

No hurry to move

Late week

An urban break

Lured by the attractions of Ludington

A huge beach, for the young  

While the adults took

A lighthouse breaker walk

A half-mile out

Keeping cameras dry

The same walk, half-mile back

The woods were there to share

A last night birthday cake

The oldest member

Maintaining his pace

Banked another

Then we celebrated 

From the youngest on

We were made to stand up front, alone

And hear the noisy group decide

How well we played

With others

Then make a selection from

The pool table awards array

On check-out morning

We worked to untangle the clan

And get everyone into

Their proper vans

Cars or SUVs

With all their gear

As well as several bags of returnable cans

   

Last minute photo ops

Then

“Goodbye, woods”

Will you stay?

And be here to greet us again someday?

DRK

11/27/17

4/11/18

 

 

UP NORTH TRILOGY

 AMISH COUNTRY

The country road heading west
transported us through horse and buggy days,
the chance to see
the work it takes to make it work,
the days to raise the oats and harvest the hay,
feed for the animals that move their lives.

Farmers with four-horse teams
pulled hybrid mowing machines
their cutters running on gasoline.

Women at the grocery store
purveyed home canned goods
and bulk foods,
bagged in the room next door.

“Ask Us About Our Bear Bait,” they advertise.

They offered staples,
Ivory, Lava and Fels Naptha,
plain products for plain people.

Starbucks Coffee over two aisles.

Young children, in a woman’s care,
five in a one horse two-wheeled buggy ride.
Bicycling,
a sixth, trailed, pushing hard,
bobbing side to side
his wide brimmed hat securely tied.

At the furniture and dry-goods store
a young girl tending the till
penned a letter longhand.
No help from Twitter or Email.

Just Uncle Sam’s snail.

A mile away
no one tended the bakery.
Honor system.  Pay
and obey.

“Shirts Required, No Swimwear.”

Hannah, lukewarm shopper,
was content to confront
the rabbit hutch out front.

How fortunate we were to need that road,
to receive our neighbors’ waves and smiling stares
as we negotiated our vehicle around theirs,

sharing a road,
clip clopped and horse plopped.

On our last Wednesday an evening service
drew dozens to the road
on foot, bicycles, carriages.
Women, west bound in black dresses and white hats
chatted as they bounced along.
A young man, east bound, running to catch up,
slicked down his hair.

All gathering
from the many events
in their labor intensive lives.


MEADOW VIEW FARM

Down the hill
and across the meadow, pink
blooming milkweed and wild asters surround
a pastel blue-green pond
neatly trimmed rim-round,
with a mowed space
and sitting benches neatly placed.

A miniature house, the focal point,
held fishing gear,
chairs and jars of food
to feed the bass, catfish and sunfish
waiting to surface.

Up the hill more paths, mowed,
tempted hikers and bikers to explore.
The tops of the trees caught the evening’s sunset rays
creating the slow rise of a northern Michigan Alpen-glow.

In the yard, along the roads,

Rabbits, groundhogs and deer,
one with a fawn.
A porcupine.
Something that looked like a fox.
The neighbor’s dog?
No black bear
although Curran, The Black Bear Capital,
is a short drive east from here.

A wild turkey family, blended, all sizes, strolled
left to right, through the rail fence,
then disappeared over the hill.
They would reprise their show at the pond.
Nearby Fairview, you may recall,
the Wild Turkey Capital.

Around the farmhouse
Bird feeders, busy
despite our noisy comings and goings
fishing, biking, kayaking, and campfire building.
Environmental footprints, indeed.
Alyssa’s gift, unique it seemed:
entrances without disturbance.

A purple finch or pine grosbeak?
The hairy woodpeckers, no mystery,
persistent, noisy.

Red breasted nuthatches
showed us where they summer.

Hummers, feisty, dive bombed each other
for some nectar.

Two pileated woodpeckers
flashed their red cockades.


 RIVER DRIFTING

The river, Au Sable
The trip, memorable 
Three generations adrift in
Pure Michigan.

Aaron's  drift boat with Meme and Papa
Alyssa and Hannah in kayaks rounding river bends
Over stones, dark pools, eddies, logs and sand.

Majestic white pines
Frame blue skies, a stray cloud
And provide a focus
On two lodgers, eagles.

One taking its leave to soar --
My thought, not to ignore
But to eye us observers.
The other, perched, shifted
As we drifted under
Eagle's wings up close
Powerful
Wonder


Aaron, intent on conveying
The joys and techniques
Of fishing with flies,
Gave us a chance to try.

     navigating back roads
     de-trailering the boat
     and into the water,
     equipping,
     rowing, teaching, demonstrating

First netting, Meme
First landing, Papa
In awe of the beauty and coloring
Of the brooks and browns briefly held

The joys came easily
The techniques, less so.

Years of casting and cranking --  
In Papa's way
Alyssa, a teen, less burdened,
Had the tight loops and roll casts
Down pat.

Excitement level enhanced
By preparations for the annual
100 mile Au Sable River canoe festival,
A dusk to dawn marathon
From Grayling with start -- a la Lemans,
Downstream to Oscoda on Lake Huron.
River crossings getting port-a-johns
Fans renting cottages to root on
Their teams
Racing a river in the dark? 
To me, insane-a-thon!

And for the record,
A taste of “Not So Pure Michigan”
Riverside, a bra tree requested donations.
And, oh children,
Sorry if you saw
Too much of that woman?


DRK
8/17/11
7/15/16