Bear Mountain

On such a glorious day a Sedona sky of vivid blueness

opens its arms and beholds the sensual curves of this

drenched red earth.

Dirt roads stretch long and dusty between the rise of

trees which gracefully slope and bow their branches to

the mountain mist as it sprays the surfaces of lonesome

and forgotten ancient graves.

Mother stones lean against each other, and whisper in

the tongue of wind knowledge, speak softly of the many

moons passed; of the sun bleached bones belonging

to a native people, of the tears from their almond eyes

filling the dry and crusty creek beds, of their hearts

which sleep among the blooms of delicate desert flowers.

This drenched red earth moans her sorrowful song, a

hush of breeze stills the Sedona sky and a blanket of

twilight covers gently the sleeping sacred.







Carol Brown ©
My poem was inspired by the above photograph taken by B.L. ©

The Last Glacial Bear

An excerpt from the novel Solar Storms -By Linda Hogan

When he saw the bear he trapped it and took it captive. At first he used it to fight dogs. The men made bets on who would win. They kept it awake all year. That’s against bear nature. Its poor mind was no longer sane. And its diet was bad, so it went weak, its teeth rotted out, and some of its fur fell out in patches. Then they tried to make money by letting men wrestle the poor creature. Finally, they charged people money just to come and see it. The last one. The last glacial bear. The last. They always loved the last of anything, those men, even the last people. I guess they felt safe then, when it was all gone.

Agnes was only twelve when they brought the blue bear here. And from the first minute she saw that bear, she loved it. It was a special thing, her and that bear. Every day she went to look at it. For a penny they let her see it. A minute a penny. Some days she took thirty pennies.

When Beauregard saw how good she was with it, he hired her to feed it. He was afraid of it, you know. The other men, too. Afraid of that poor broken thing. When they went in the small cage, they kicked it away and pushed at it with their rifles. But Agnes was not afraid. She was a gentle girl. The bear liked this. It knew her, in a way. Through her eyes, I think. She stole good food for it, too, and its fur grew back. In the afternoons, young boys would go around and poke sticks through the cage and Agnes would fight with the boys and come home crying.

Looking back on it, the boys, I think they were jealous of what’s wild and strong. If the bear fought back, it was hated; if it didn’t, they hated it for being weak. The bear was ruined in its heart. Even with Agnes’ love. It sat with its back to the boys and let them poke it and call it names. Finally, they came to it with guns full of corn and they shot that poor bear to see if it had any fight left in its thick skin. Agnes cried and kicked at them. She chased after them. They called her crazy. “I’ll shoot you,” she said. “That’s how crazy I am.” She took a gun one day to keep them away.

One chilly day alone, she went to the bear. She lifted her shirt and showed the bear her round full breasts. Oh, it understood already. It knew that she was a woman. It knew she had compassion.

Before she left the house that day I saw her crying. I had a bad feeling. I followed her. I watched how she entered the cage. She didn’t even fear for her own life. She didn’t have the gun. She only had a knife, so all the poor girl could do was cut the bear's neck and let it bleed. The warm blood poured into the ground. It was a chilly day. You could see the steam rise from the wounds. Its eyes were grateful. I saw that. That bear put a paw on Agnes and stroked her in return. It touched her. It comforted her. I have never seen such a thing as that. I cried, too.

The last bear in Germany

Books I've recently read.

A Map To the Next World- Poems by Joy Harjo



Between A Rock And A Hard Place- Aron Ralston

Four Spirits- Sena Teter Nashland

Getting Mother’s Body- Suzan - Lori Parks

I Sailed With Magellan- Stuart Dybek

Love- Toni Morrison

Oryx And Crake- Margaret Atwood

O Pioneers!- Willa Cather

Power- Linda Hogan

Solar Storms- Linda Hogan

The Last True Story I’ll Ever Tell- John Crawford

The Memory Of Running- Ron McLarty

The Most Wanted- Jacquelyn Mitchard

The Turtle Warrior- Mary Relindes

Of the above, my favorites are Ron McLarty's The Memory Of Running
And. Solar Storms by Linda Hogan

Sometimes there are moments when a person has to make a decision, as opposed to just letting things just happen. A person then has to happen himself. I have never done this. Life bounced off me, and bounced me, and now it was going to bounce me to death. —from The Memory of Running (p. 77)

Update- April 27. Just finished reading Fortunate Son. A novel by Walter Mosley

Update 2- May 2. And now I've read The Man In My Basement- Yet another Mosley novel. I'm realy liking Mosley's style, he's a good read. Thought provocative but easy on my brain.

The Man in My Basement: "When a stranger offers him $50,000 in cash to rent out his basement for the summer, Charles needs the money too badly to say no. He knows that the stranger must want something more than a basement view. Sure enough, he has a very particular—and bizarre—set of requirements, and Charles tries to satisfy him without getting lured into the strangeness. But he sees an opportunity to understand secrets of the white world, and his summer with a man in his basement turns into a journey into inconceivable worlds of power and manipulation, and unimagined realms of humanity."

Rain

When the rain falls it falls hard, falls
slow, falls softly.
When the rain comes it pushes me to
regret, pushes me behind and it
washes me blind.
When the sun shines it shines bright,
shines the darkness harsh and all
there is here isn't all light.
When the sun comes it causes all to
shadow, takes the moon captive
breaks open and cries.
When nothing comes around, it
pushes me down, the earth spins me
'round, the sand smothers sound.
The rain and sun chains a necklace
across the sky and I'm breathing just
to die.

When the rain falls, I won't be found.


Carol Brown ©

Into the night...

She's already seen the moon
weep, felt the empty ache
when the sun moved behind
the shadows.
She's already seen how cruel
the sun and the moon.
Though our beloved lantern
watched from afar as she
silently faded into the
dimming stars shot off into
infinity.
But will anyone notice her
last flicker of light when
she closes her eyes to dream
eternal among the ruins?


Carol Brown ©

Come Spring

Thawing Time

1

Ice has formed a
perfect
crystalline image
here in this house
of rime stone,
this house of
contrition.
Spring breezes
blow
smoke rings
'round my bed
and as I watch
the sky
for a miracle
I'll die hungry
and bewildered.

2

First I must live
with this hunger
and bewilderment,
crawl across the
sun faded floor
to the open door
of chance, toss
the dice, watch
as they slowly
spin & fall...
Handing me over
to the compass
keeper the garden
reaper a tangible
sleeper a crowd
of pain, a cup of
rain sliding down
the glass.
Hands splayed,
grasping
gripping
slippery
tucked between
thin sheets of ice
until my
honeysuckle
desires explode
exposing my
insides out.

3

When my insides
are displayed
before
reluctant eyes
and sprouting
melodies-
Bowing with Vivaldi
strings and tap
dancing finger
snapping precision
in rhythm on the
bottom of a penny
loafer caught
in the act of
bubble gum treason-
Inky blue
shadows haunt
the jitter bug
ghost
punctuated
with glittering
ballroom gala.

Pause

Where delicate
swallows
swoop and dip
their beaks
into a pool of
deliverance.
Imagery released
into a theme park
where pigeons
pose and time is
in a generous
state of illusion-
Fury
spews from the
mouth of torrid
orange
nightmares where
bandits hide
behind the porcelain
faces of barbie doll
revolutionaries-
My poetry
emerging
vulnerable
like ducks
in a shooting gallery.


Carol Brown ©

I'm Rocking Into You...

Moon nodding night stars flaming across
the jet stream, it’s time for you to
breathe your ebony blanket into a cradle
of leaves and spider silk.
I'm rocking into you, into you.
Your dusky shadows whispering, taking
me along in a boat where we drift idle
on the water’s slick black dreams.
Over the land and all the way down to
where the crickets mate you wrap your
satin shroud with your changing-over.
Going past the old willows, away from
light to closing eyes, and falling into
slumber where the night jars sing about
your mystery.
Wait don’t leave me yet! Run your fingers
through my hair...like that yes like
that.
Hold me in your arms of blackness, rock
me until the sun returns with her heat
steaming off the dew where the grass
awakes.... easing me back to a world of
blinding light.


Carol Brown ©

Meadow Sweet

Meadow Sweet Blues

Shhh... nobody knows yet, not even you
Come here baby you know what to do
I’m a rock-a-bye lady who has to pretend.

When the night comes it comes so cold
Into our hearts it goes
When the day wakes under the snow
Into our dreams it melts
Leaves behind a song sweet, nobody knows

Come on now give me that kiss, time's so
Damn short there’s no time to miss
Hold me, let me pretend.... this is the
Beginning it isn’t the end.

When the night comes it comes so cold
Into our hearts it goes
When the day wakes under the snow
Into our dreams it melts
Leaves behind a song sweet, nobody knows.


Carol Brown ©

Wild Flower

Swollen virgin bud bursting violet, I came crashing down,

fell on my knees and curled myself around brief moments

of bliss where I surrendered.

Where scattering leaves fell from a cobalt sky, and the

scent of lavender lingered on my skin licked raw and still

I returned to where cold was hot and desire was a thing

that fed me.

Did you hear the silence of falling snow or see the shadows

long and thin wrapping their hungry arms around me with

a cloak of arctic drifts leaving me bare and shivering?

It was then I heard the shattering sound of glass causing

my teeth to chatter from the force of heat steaming with

grasping fingers running through my hair wet with the

glory of fire and the painful longing of ice.


And still... I glanced back with hungry eyes.



Carol Brown ©