As for Poets



As for Poets,

The Earth Poets,

Who write small poems,

Need help from no man.






The Air Poets

Play on the swiftest gales

And sometimes loll in the eddies.

Poem after poem

Curling back on the same thrust.






At fifty below

Fuel oil won’t flow

And propane stays in the tank.

Fire poets

Burn at absolute zero

Fossil love pumped back up.






The first

Water poet

Stayed down six years.

He was covered with seaweed.

The life in his poem

Left millions of tiny

Different tracks

Criss-crossing through the mud.






With the Sun and Moon

In his belly,

The Space Poet,


No end to the sky –

But his poems,

Like wild geese,

Fly off the edge.






A Mind Poet

Stays in the house.

The house is empty

And it has no walls.

The poem

Is seen from all sides,

Everywhere, At once.




By Frazier Creek Falls



Standing up on lifted, folded rock

looking out and down –


The creek falls to a far valley.

hills beyond that

facing, half-forested, dry

– clear sky

strong wind in the

stiff glittering needle clusters

of the pine – their brown

round trunk bodies

straight, still;

rustling trembling limbs and twigs




This living flowing land

is all there is, forever


We are it

it sings through us


We can live on this Earth

without clothes or tools!







To be in

to the land

where croppt-out rock

can hardly see

the swiftly passing trees


Manzanita clans

cluster up and fan out on their soils

in streaks and sweeps

with birds and woodrats underneath


And clay swale keeps wet,

free of trees, the bunch-grass

like no Spaniard ever came


I hear no news


Cloud finger dragons dance and

tremble down the ridge

and spit and spiral snow then pull in

quivering, on the sawtooth spine


Clears up, and all the stars.

the tree leaves catch

some extra tiny source

all the wide night


Up here

out back drink deep

that black light.