para normalcy

trudging down,
up a long, winding,
hard, dirt path

the next bend i see
afar off
is gonna gradually
turn a wide left

gonna pass by sage brush
bristling with thorns
and dry itch chaff,
be good for my allergies

my legs and feet
are my ride
i’m gonna rise up
and gonna gradually
sweep down

the sound of my feet
can’t help making a rhythmic,
hushed muffled sound,
of grit grinding grit
on a rolling bed of dirt

there’s a raven following me
it flys ahead
alights on high branches
of scrub oak
stays on its perch
and eyes me quizzically
somehow it knows
i won’t harm it

its black raven head
dominated by a sharp curved,
black chrome beak,
that dully bounces the hot sun’s rays
to my squinted eyes

i pass by it several times
each time it watches
’til i pass it by
a few strides ahead
before it alights to land
on convenient branches

again and again
following me
landing each time
at precise right angles
of my gait’s location

i’m tempted to throw a pebble
at it’s daring,
it’s arrogant curiosity
it’s intrusiveness
it’s rattling of my calm

i choose instead,
“hey, what’s up dude?
are you a witch in disguise,
or are you a witch’s guide,
out on reconaissonce?”

it springs skyward,
unlike a crow’s loud caw,
it forces out a low croaking sound,
as if to say,
“go about your walk,
been fun disrupting your fun,
be careful where you turn”

the blood of the atmosphere
is squeezed by the dropping
of the mid summer sun,
it bleeds
like a non color fast cloth,
tarnishing the horizon
of the approaching hills
who absorb the weakened fluid
and store it
to later mix
with the light of the moon

the first star greets me
unannounced
though it is but twilight
it’s shining brightly,
like venus,

guiding me as it were,
to the cradle two hills’ saddle,
i had my bearing set upon,
a mile ago

it’s here at the rift
of their feminine fold
that i will stop
it’s here i will rest

here i will ponder the day’s walk
it’s here by an alert oak tree
that seems to crave my company,
that i will dare to sleep,
its gnarled trunk i pray,
serve to be
my pillar of support

the moon now is risen
its colors released spill
of the sun’s store of hues,
gathered earlier while it shone

hundreds of thousands of stars
are sprinkled overhead
illuminating starkly

the barn owl,
that suddenly flies overhead,
stirred perhaps,
from the crooked folds and twists,
of its daytime nest,
to seek it’s evening meal

this can of pork an’ beans,
not gourmet,
but good,
heated over the open fire

thought,
was gonna be a quiet night
wind came up suddenly,
common to desert biomes
it’s a freaky thing,
tossing and hurling debris,
pushing me nearly over,
in my huddled tent

finally it rips
my nylon nest
off its feeble pegs
sending me out
leeward of the arroyo

were it not for the brambles
my resting place
could have been
bottom’s up
in the ditch

i’m back on top
huddled in fetal position
’til the wind dies
an’ now with repositioned tent
my belongings reorganized,
i’m nestled at my fire

thought,
ravens were diurnal,
it’s back
perching itself
on a nearby mesquite
my heart beats fast

thought,
raven’s eyes were black
not a reddish glow

thought,
their size was relative
to my known experience
that of crows,
not the size of a buzzard,
didn’t know they shape shift

did i somehow inhale

peyote dust?
brush up against it?

this time,
because i’ve still got,
the fortitude
and sense of composure,
to honor my love
of animals,
i grab my sling shot

realization,
this is no mere animal
and if this trifle of a weapon,
. . . proves inadequate,
relative to my degree
of fear . . .
to courage ratio . . .
required to withstand
the possible series . . .
of events . . .
whose . . .
outcome,
i’m predicting, . .

a shot of adrenalin surges
with lightening quick
bursts of thought,
i conclude that,
if i am to cope mentally,
with what i feel
is about to unfold, . . .

hell No!

my decision catapults my body to action,

love of animals or no,
i stand at the ready
smith an’ wesson
.45 in hand

Reviews

[Chris Shaw]

On another journey, treking and camping on your ownsome. I like the conversations you had with the raven. That's the sort of thing I would do myself. I'm not a lover of that creature either. Too much reading about folklore I guess. A very descriptive write. Your last stanza, I wouldn't have gone that far even though I find them menacing. A very visual composition.

Chris