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Showing posts with the label Colorado

On Thinking Back to Summer

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Edgy and exhausted, broken, held together like safety glass, walking around covered with clothes, inside shivering in the dull sun. Heart careening from chakra to chakra looking for a place to mend. How is the sky still a happy blue, with all those clouds scratching? Dry green leaves scraping over each other, pretending its still summer. Grated afternoons garnishing that shrunken hot dog, withered down to a shriveled string. How did it look so plump under that awful sauerkraut? Colorado Late Summer Squiva Trained Picnic Model

Harvest

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Shafts of light slice through the loosened boards Scrabbling along the hay-washed floor dimming down the dusty corners still smelling of the dry harvests. Horse a little restless in her stall. Or is that rustle cut from a different day? Green hayfields full of noisy birds, mixed flocks foraging in sparking swirls, hushing down in the green-yellow grasses. Love pushing into the afternoons, still evenings drenched with dreams. Southern Colorado near Crestone

The High Mountains

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Screaming down the highway in the soaking sun, Clouds streaking, winds snapping, Summer on the run. Trail Ridge Road, Colorado
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Afternoons are rainy here, black paint drips into the wet grey skies. Cold rains are coming; summer flees with a tempered wave. I'd like to read your mind, please, since I  know your soul already. Estes Park, Late Summer 2013

On Paying Attention

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Don't forget to appreciate the black-eyed susans Crossroads outside Crestone Colorado

Yakity Yak, Yak, Yak

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Yes, ladies and gentlemen, this is a Colorado Yak Yak Ranch Between Crestsone and Moffat

One expects the paint to peel, after half a century

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Iron rust-worn gates holding in the childhoods Time herding memories into corners Two ruts for a road, packed down and lined with grass Apples, dusty red, almost ripe Air standing up so fresh, bitter pine and cottonwoods Dinner time, shadowless and sweaty with hay dust Light fading away with yesterday.

Is This The Day?

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I was lying fallow as a field when the fey message came-- sneaking down into the chimney passing by the joints and pipes latching up with my being interlocking tongue and groove tossing life into the empty places. Is this the day I was looking for?  Route 285

DIA: Design in Absentia?

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OK. I am usually very accepting of interesting sorts of conglomerates.   I mean, if an architect wants to bend reality and create a  sort of Arabian, Vatican, Mongolian, Tee Pee-shaped Yurt-lookalike hut collection, it is really OK with me. Furthermore, If you want to put these symbolically unfortunate constructions on top of an airport for some reason, go ahead and  negotiate it with the political context of the time. If they don't lose my baggage, I will assume it is some sort of Frank Gehry Neuveaux Shape-Shifting ideation. So my question is:  Who, how, when, why --and  especially, where did they find an architect to match these glaringly haute couture-draped forms-in-search-of-a-function with that unbelievable 5 or 6 story Moscow- of-the-50s parking garage in the foreground?  The whole thing is --there must be a word.... Denver International Airport, 2013

On the usefulness of pans placed on fence posts (it's Crestone....)

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Some things make perfect sense, especially in Crestone Colorado! Snow Resting on Pan on Fencepost in the Mornng Dark-eyed Junco sitting on Pan of Resting snow on top of Fencepost in Late Afternoon Dark-eyed Junco sitting on Pan of Resting now on top of Fencepost in Late Afternoon (photo ©LJosephCalloway@gmail.com)

Frost-Crusted Dawn

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I do love an early morning bus ride out of Moffat Colorado! Route 17 near Highway 285 in Southern Colorado. 

A Bran-New Year!

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I feel opened up and unwrapped today; did that every happen to you? When that heady concoction of Life just begun comes into your heart and begins to outrun the Sadness and Madness, the Sorrowful Brew, that had captured my mind for an eon or two, before I recovered and finally knew, If I spent just a few of these moments with you, I could vanquish each dissonant thing that I'd done, when I hadn’t a clue what I wanted to do with the what and the why and the who. Let’s close up 2012 with a joyful adieu. lt’s a gorgeous New Year, and it’s waiting for You! South Park, Southern Colorado in December

On the Way Home

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Fair Play Colorado, December 2012

Christmas in Crestone

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Crestone, Colorado with Tree, Snow, and Wet Dog

A Moment of Quiet

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Screeching and crashing Fast^ Buy@ Sell# Now% Substitution Satisfaction Buying time for beauty Prying out a life Rural Denver 2012
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There's no place like a home away from home for Christmas!! DENVER -- December 21, 2012 ( prior to the end of the world)

Lonesome Railroad Whistle

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Does the whistle still blow along the railroad tracks? Does the steam still whoosh around those iron wheels? Drawn to the rails like an iron filing, I yearned for a molecular rearrangement, a stretched out yesterday, I didn’t know the ache of my itinerary. Where is the frosted, yellow wheat? Where is the red sunset against that winter tree? Where is the empty creek bed? Where is the meaning of magenta? The Station’s empty now, the crowds sucked into evening, Craving the new neon, built with energy saving bulbs. An undeciphered answer hiding in the wires. Can we hear the songs of those without another spring, Slipping into their new life, plunging into colors, Bursting with new dimensions?

Connections

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I hear the tangled memories, snagging through my mind, Riding along the dry arroyos. We knew each other once; I feel it in my chest, I hear the fizzled echoes. Rich red and golden passion singing through the wires, Vanishing before my eyes As if it never was. ColoradoTelephone Pole, through the widow of a bus

I Dreamed of Fixing Everything

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There’s tar at the edge of the new asphalt road; Cold in winter, soft and sticky in the summer sun There’s nothing like a paved road/ I guess it takes a gravel, dusty, dirt-filled one to know the difference. When I walk along my mental tar-edged road, it’s December: dark, lights bubbling in the window evergreen, me longing for a way to comprehend my aching ribcage, frantic bloody cuticles. Did I eat that other box of cookies, and what will I do for the money? Dig into the old purse, the cushions fed by drunken, snoring, singing, whining, biting, sniping parties? How I dreamed of fixing everything. I new I could! (Throat aching, fingers hurting, luminescent cookies in the closet corner.) I’ll wake up willing, armed and ready: mending broken pieces, gluing back the days of childhood.  Visiting the slant-roofed farmhouse, grass high, hollow tree, full of whiskey.  Dinner at the table with the extra piece of plywood, how I dreamed of home, carsick, staring at the fading countryside. Y

Colorado Cottonwoods with Mailboxes

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 Strange goings-on behind two blurry mailboxes Blurry Mailboxes and Colorado Cottonwoods--November 2011