“get it in writing”

i never think to “get it in writing”

because i trust working person-

to-person and want it to be that way

i dropped off books at a mom-and-

pop bookstore once for them to sell

on commission, but got no receipt, so,

when i went to see how they had sold

though they were gone, i got zilch

and now i am hung up again

producing Exhalation, the best book

in my Nandria series

i do hope we can come to an agreement

in writing, this time

bouncer

plantations of rubber trees

oozing thick liquid

assumed riches, hard-fought

in jungle’s sweaty labor

illnesses and terrors

but worth it all for wealth

until laboratory synthesis

created material with rubber’s

assets plus close supervision

of production and needed variations

plantations of rubber trees

left unattended in the jungle

by sweaty, malarial-infected

disillusioned get-rich men

no complaints

i complain as the promised view

of meteor showers again

is smothered in summer haze

and smoke from distant wildfires

as though such deprivation of a sight

were as devastating as the loss

of farm, ranch buildings, homes

livestock and human life to those

again threatened in California

Washington, Colorado and my Oregon

After Fasting

After Fastingreading a haiku by Robert Kratz

Hunger forced the doe closer to Man’s strange, straight-sided buildings so unlike Nature’s gently curved lines. She had been fasting by choice to remain near her whimpering fawn. But this dawn, he had grown still and cold. She had risen, finally, to shuffle as she could toward the smell of abundant corn. She had always feared Man, but she was too weak not to dare what was nearby for the taking.

The doe crept forward, trembling, then stopped, shuddering. A dog barked. The silence of the Meadow beyond beckoned, but it was so far.

Again, the dog barked, and was joined by the sharp yips of a smaller hound.

 The doe bound away, then staggered as she could toward the Meadow.

headlong into hellfire

gentle souls conquer without winning

testing further their compassion

toward their tormentors

deepening their humbleness

but heaping coals of fire on the heads

of those diving into the hellfire

of bitter littleness and loss

little ones of war

a set to rosebud lips

that speaks of never smiling

an impenetrable darkness

to once sparkling eyes

that says “I am too old

to any longer cry”

though the teeth are baby

and hair still wispy

but experience weighs

heavier than decades

embroidered with darkness

embroidered with darkness

fine net of twig and leaf shadow

gently undulates

over Daddy Ben’s rocker

friends with my computer

rid myself of an app

it took hours of words with it

but worth the loss

to able to deal directly

oh, to be easy friends

with my ‘puter!

too long the pity party

 senryu

 numb at what i’ve lost

unbelieving she’s dying

all pity long gone

red sky in the morning

smoky red sky to the northeast

as though the mighty Columbia were hosting wildfires

but it is only – i hope – dawn

we’ve had fire near often enough in the past few years

to be wary of more and compassionate

towards all who suffer terror and loss and fire danger