Tag: poetry

Ron’s Big Adventure

(NOTE: This is for Ron Duke, who rode off down the South Fork of the Guadalupe River near Hunt, Texas early on the morning of July 4, 2025 in his kayak. As far as I know, he was last seen nearing the Gulf of Mexico. Wherever you are, Ron, may you  R.I.P)

Ron

Conventional wisdom says
That Ron Duke didn’t survive
The massive flood of ’25.

But he’s never been one to let convention
Get in his way.

Through the years
He was often heard to say:

“The best time to kayak this river
Is when it’s flooding.”

This may be what actually happened:

In the dark of the morning
On the Fourth of July of ‘25,
Ron was startled awake by pounding rain.
The sound was music to his ears once he put his hearing aids in.
Back in ’87, he’d stayed in bed and listened to that same song,
For a little too long.
And that’d been a mistake.
So this time around, he had a new plan.

With the help of a rush of adrenaline,
He crabwalked himself out of bed,
And made his way down the outdoor leaning stairway,
Of his house on stilts.
Then, he walked across the road,
To his combination
Kayak/canoe/outdoor gear/chainsaw/mountain bike/woodstove/water advocacy shop.

With the water coming his way,
And no time to waste,
He made a try at haste.
He moved, not dragged, a kayak to the parking lot,
Grabbed a paddle, put on his old life jacket,
Got his thermos of Community Coffee,
A box of coffee cake that he’d fairly recently purchased at Walmart,
A new pack of Marlboro’s,
And the unread July issue of the Geographic.
Then, he climbed into the boat
Just as the water set him afloat.

And so,

He rode the rising South Fork
In his kayak toward the Gulf.
Through the cypress
And the cedars,
Past the boulders
And the bluffs.

Lightning flashing,
Thunder rumbling
Sweet smell of raindrops in the air.

He didn’t hurry,
No need to worry.
‘Cause he was on a river,
And headed home.

———————————————————-

Audio Version:

Out the Door

 

Soaking it all in

Adventure calls,
An hour awaits.
What will I see?
What are my fates?

So, I walk through the doorway
And into the woods.
With no trail to walk on,
I follow the coulds.

Right off the bat,
Post Oaks and vines,
Along with some Greenbriers,
Mix with the pines.

At first, I feel limits
To where I can go.
Then push through a tangle,
And go with the flow.

Once out of the thicket,
A meadow appears.
A grazing deer stops,
And perks up its ears.

Though free of confinement,
I stop in my tracks,
Eager to see,
Just how it reacts.

Despite my quiet efforts,
It scampers away.
Just why that happened,
I simply can’t say.

So, I move on ahead,
Across open terrain.
The ground would’ve been solid,
Except for the rain.

My boots become wet
And the dirt turns to mud.
My feet are soon covered
With masses of crud.

I turn to my right
Toward higher ground.
I’m hoping for dryness,
But none can be found.

After walking 5 minutes,
I top a small rise.
Then suddenly before me,
–a pleasant surprise.

A field of wild Raspberries,
Is blocking my route.
And I can see by their color,
That they’re ripe without doubt.

I fill up on berries,
Then emerge near a creek.
I follow the bank,
A dry crossing, I seek.

Around a curve in the creek,
A log bridges the stream.
I get halfway across
Then it breaks, and I scream.

Into the water,
I fall with a thud.
It’s not all that deep,
But there’s plenty of mud.

I move on across,
Then, climb out at the shore.
I’m nasty and wet,
And cold to the core.

Glad to be out,
I sit down on a log.
And that’s when I’m greeted,
By a sick-looking dog.

I look for its owner,
But no one is near.
That the poor pooch is hungry,
Seems to be clear.

I give it my snack,
And it eats it up quick.
Then it chews on some grass,
And picks up a stick.

It sits down beside me
And we both shut our eyes.
But are soon startled to action
By shrieking and cries.

Something’s distressed
I quickly conclude.
We run toward the noise,
And arrive at a feud.

Two birds are fighting
Over a morsel of food.
I stop in my tracks,
But the dog can’t be subdued.

It goes in on attack
But the prey easily escape.
The dog feasts on the morsel
Which puts an end to the scrape.

I get back to my walk
And the dog follows my lead.
But I have no clue where I am,
I’m lost I concede.

I was full of questions.
Should I go right?
Turn to the left?
Or just go where I might?

But then I look up,
And there in the trees
My cabin awaits
Which puts me at ease.

How did I get back here?
I wonder in vain.
I almost turned back,
Have I gone insane?

We walk to the cabin
I don’t know where I’ve been.
But I’m glad to be back
And I’ll take the win.

I ponder the pooch,
The berries, and creek.
The mud, and the cold,
The adventures I seek.

Whether it’s for minutes
Or days without end.
I cherish those moments,
That lead ‘round a bend.

Audio Version:

Taking a Break

 

Golden Lake in the Wind River Range of Wyoming
The Wind River Range, Wyoming

Dreams of a river
Full of trout,
And an alpine summit
Without a route;

Of slippery slopes
All clad in ice,
And trail suppers served
Without any rice;

There’s alpine tundra
Filled with flowers,
Lonely mountaintops
With red rocky towers;

Huge herds of Bison
Shake the ground,
And Mule Deer run
Without a sound;

A strong wind answers
With silent breath,
The persistent questions
Of life and death;

Bull Elk bugle
Their signalling call,
While Aspens brighten
A mountain fall;

There are spongy hummocks
Of wetland grass,
And clear blue lakes
As smooth as glass;

The horizon’s filled
With massive peaks,
Snow-melt fills
A maze of creeks;

Unknown trails
Are everywhere,
I wonder which
Will take me there;

There are boulder fields
And talus slopes,
Berry vines
And climbing ropes;

Happy faces
Wide open spaces,
A lot of places
With few human traces;

I open my eyes
And step back onto the trail.
I breathe in deep;
Choose where I’m going;
Smile; and exhale.

Audio:

Mountain climbers nearing the summit of a mountain

Livin’ and Learnin’

 

 

 

 

Messin’ with a Red Ant,
Drawin’ pictures in the dirt,
Swattin’ at a gnat,
And takin’ off my shirt.

Lookin’ at a cloud,
Whistlin’ out of tune,
Thinkin’ about tomorrow,
And wonderin’ if it’s noon.

Damin’ up the creek,
Wishin’ for a flood,
Hopin’ for dessert,
And playin’ in the mud.

Watchin’ buzzards soar,
Freezin’ in the snow.
Trippin’ on a root,
And seein’ what’s below.

Hammerin’ rocks together,
Tastin’ leaves and grass,
Livin’ in the moment,
And sittin’ on my ass.

Hearin’ Coyotes yippin’,
Puttin’ band-aids on my knee,
Tastin’ Honeysuckle,
And fightin’ with a tree,

Crossin’ on a log,
Bangin’ with a stick,
Gettin’ stung by wasps,
And feelin’ kinda sick.

Laughin’ at the squirrels,
Swimmin’ with the Perch,
Dryin’ in the Sun,
And headin’ off to search.

Burnin’ up the daylight,
Avoidin’ all the Ticks,
Yellin’ cause I can,
And fiddlin’ with some sticks.
Screamin’ at a boulder,
Listenin’ to the day,
Runnin’ from a bug,
And ponderin’ what to say.

Walkin’ without shoes,
Forgettin’ things I know,
Rememberin’ what just happened,
And rowin’ with the flow.

Drinkin’ from a pond,
Witchin’ with a stick,
Rollin’ down the hill,
And floatin’ in the crick.

Climbin’ on a mountain,
Raisin’ up the sail,
Breathin’ in the air,
And followin’ a new trail.

Leanin’ on a tree,
Ponderin’ sticker burrs,
Rattlin’ the bushes,
And screamin’ if it stirs.

Soakin’ up the mornin’,
Celebratin’ what went right,
Smellin’ all the roses,
Not frettin’ about the night.

Fillin’ up the moments,
Soakin’ in the day,
Savorin’ ‘round the corner,
Goin’ where I may.

Audio File:

A ba backpacking cooking group prepares a mealroup
Supper

Problems in Need of Solutions

 

Pondering the route

No sail for the wind,
Or rock to ascend.

No birds in the sky,
Or reasons to cry.

No bike for the trail,
Or mountain to scale.

No sun for the day,
Or words yet to say.

No cold for the heat,
Or dance for the beat.

No fly for the trout,
Or sense in the route.

No skis for the snow,
Or mystery to know.

No tent for the night,
Or rope to keep tight.

No found for the lost,
Or gain to the cost.

No coat for the storm,
Or way to stay warm.

No boat for the river,
Or stop to the shiver.

No pack for the stuff,
Or smooth for the rough.

No elk for the wallow,
Or pathways to follow,

No skates for the ice,
Or bowl for the rice.

No cool for the hot,
Or stove for the pot.

No tent for the rain,
Or gain for the pain.

No boots for the feet,
Or snacks left to eat.

No water for the drink,
Or reasons to think.

No gloves for the hands,
Or wild in the lands.

No parks for the town,
Or trails to walk down.

No socks for the feet,
Or strangers to meet.

No summits to reach,
No moments that teach.
No ring in the bell,
No story to tell.

——————————————–

Audio Version:

Descending into a valley in Bolivia.

Monster Shadows

 

Where monsters lurk

Cast your shadow,
Moonlight bright.
Wake the moment,
Stir the night.

Treetops sparkle,
With muted light.
Boulders hiding,
On my right.

Something scampers,
Taking flight.
It’s small and quick,
With stripes of white.

Night sounds near,
But out of sight.
Do I run,
Or stand and fight?

A distant shriek,
Causes fright.
But nothing gets me,
And I’m all right.

Back to the campfire,
Flickering bright.
Its guarding sphere,
A realm of light.

Flames mostly yellow,
A few are white.
At first, I stare
But then look right.

What is that there,
Beyond my sight?
Out in the darkness,
Of the night.

Unseen monsters,
I think to fight.
And once again,
I ponder flight.

Then magically,
There’s no more fright.
The monsters flee
It’s first daylight.

Audio Version: 

The forest at night

Good Senses

Looking into the Copper Canyon backcountry

Starry nights
And faraway lights.
Where storm clouds go
And a wild lightning show.

Above the peak
And the end of the trail.
Crossing a log
And staying out of the bog.

Warm days in winter
And fields full of color.
Snowfall in summer
And a distant drummer.

Intriguingly perched boulders
And birds flying south.
The movements of herds
And undefined words.

Second winds found
And hills lit by the sun.
Uncharted miles
And grandeur that smiles.

Mysterious corners
And faces in logs.
Waves rolling in
And time without end.

Branches all tangled
And stickers that stick.
Why campfires smoke
And cause you to choke.

The bacon that’s cooking
And ants that don’t bite.
Dust Devils on the horizon
And moments that wizen.

Unknown new roads
And scratching an itch.
At the top of the climb
And the future time.

Life fills up your mind
And lights up your path.
So, free your spirit to wander,
There’s so much to ponder.

Audio Version:

A campfire to smell

Showtime

Stars of the show

See the face
In clouds that race
Across the sky
Into your eye.

Feel the touch
Of ground and such.
Of rocks and sand
And unknown land.

Hear the quiet
Of ants that riot,
Rocks that hum,
And falling crumb.

Smell the rain,
The ripened grain,
Unbridled mare,
And newborn air.

Taste the dust
And gulp the gust.
Drink dripping ice.
Make dirt your spice.

Chew the fat.
Watch the gnat.
Touch the grime,
And yucky slime.

Feed the campfire,
Avoid the briar,
Ski the scree,
Don’t squish a flea

Sit and ponder,
Look and wander.
Always more to know
In nature’s show.

Audio Version:

Waterfall on the Middle Fork of the Popo Agie

Rich

backpacker walking down a dirt road in the mountains with the Aspen trees turninggolden.

Count your wealth
In soaring trees,
Dunes of sand,
And sprawling seas.

In Limestone rocks,
Granite faces,
Grassy meadows,
And open spaces.

In thorny cactus,
Whitetail Deer,
Rolling plains,
And rivers clear.

In moonlit nights,
Gentle snows,
Trails of dirt,
And cawing crows.

In Bison herds,
Buzzing bees,
Starry nights,
And cooling breeze.

In boulder fields,
First raindrops,
Boggy creeks,
And mountain tops.

In waterfalls,
Cedar breaks,
Grizzly Bears.
And big snowflakes.

In gurgling springs,
Hungry snakes,
Wild raspberries,
And alpine lakes.

In Aspen groves,
Wild mountain honey.
Spring wildflowers,
And days all sunny.

In vast pine forests,
Pecan bottoms,
Briar patches,
And colorful autumns.

So count your blessings
Not your gold.
Nature’s rich,
“Look, behold.”

Audio Version:

Boquillas Canyon on the Rio Grande

 

So Much Beautiful

 

Late afternoon light- Batopilas Canyon, Mexico

The Sun rises.
It brings light
And warmth with it.

A violent thunderstorm
Heads on to the east
And a double rainbow
Forms where it used to be.

Eight buzzards catch an updraft
And soar effortlessly
Above the valley.

A young family piles into their car
And heads to town
For donuts.

The Herefords stop grazing.
They turn their butts into the wind,
Face the sun, and close their eyes
To soak in the warmth.

The slow, gentle rain stops.
Almost instantaneously,
The green of the meadow
Begins to glow.

A Tarahumara man sits down
And leans against a tree.
Then, he plays the violin he made.

The stoplight turns red
And the cars stop.

A mother Golden Eagle
Spends the day
Teaching her babies
To fly.

A salesman is late to an appointment.
He pulls off to the side of the road
And helps a stranger
Change their tire.

A crumbling old man talks to his cane.
A young woman
Sitting across from him answers.

An old dog crawls from under the porch
And sprawls out onto
The cool, refreshing dirt.

The drizzle stops,
The fog lifts,
And the clouds disappear.
And within a moment, blue skies erupt.

A kid stops, reaches down,
And picks up a nasty used Styrofoam cup.
She stuffs it into her back pocket
To throw away later.
And no one is watching.

Spring arrives in the mountains.
A snowdrift melts and
Is replaced by
A Calypso Orchid.

A volcano blows its lid.
Lava begins to pour out
And a new island is born.

A mountain climber reaches the top.
Before celebrating and relishing the view,
He turns and belays up the person 50 feet behind.

A dead Spruce tree
Falls and blocks a trail in the forest.
A new path begins.

The Sun sinks in the west.
Alpenglow briefly consumes the mountains.

The couple sits on their deck.
They ponder the horizon,
As a full moon rises over the hill.

Small, but integral parts
Of a beautiful day
That never ends.

———————————————————–

Audio Version:

Sharing in Ecuador