Poem from Here

doran


i walk the beach this mild september day
& step into the waves so bright & cold—
foam swirls around my feet, then floats away.

sunlight bounces blue across the bay,
the sand is shining streaks of brown & gold.
i walk the beach this mild september day.

tiny sandpipers speed from the fray.
the hungry gulls are curious & bold.
foam swirls around my feet, then floats away.

along the water’s edge some godwits play,
a solitary willet joins their fold.
i walk the beach this mild september day.

dark lines of waves are sailing flags of spray—
i wade deeper, by their spell cajoled.
foam swirls around my feet, then floats away.

into the wind a kite & vulture sway
as moisture into fog is softly rolled.
i walk the beach this mild september day.
foam swirls around my feet, then floats away.

zucchini


from hunger & the ravages of lack
the great zucchini grows to save us all.
the largess of her bounty can appall
the timid cook. he fills sack after sack
to give away until his friends avoid
his smile. the wide & wooly leaves conceal
more growing squash. already every meal
reveals zucchini. we are overjoyed
to find them small. in shadows giants grow.
their length & girth can shock the bravest. look—
from garden to the kitchen flows a dream
of blossoms, bees, abundant overflow.
first pollen from her stamens gently shook,
then pistils filled her steady, swelling gleam.


~ from Corona Flora by Sandy Eastoak

Lovely
Timely
You garden Sage.

M.

Quote:

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Posted in reply to the post by sandoak:

zucchini


from hunger & the ravages of lack
the great zucchini grows to save us all.
the largess of her bounty can appall
the timid cook. he fills sack after sack
to give away until his friends avoid
his smile. the wide & wooly leaves conceal
more growing squash. already every meal
reveals zucchini. we are overjoyed
to find them small. in shadows giants grow.
their length & girth can shock the bravest. look—
from garden to the kitchen flows a dream
of blossoms, bees, abundant overflow.
first pollen from her stamens gently shook,
then pistils filled her steady, swelling gleam.


~ from Corona Flora by Sandy Eastoak

---

triolet


restful, restful, lying under willow trees -
delusions of the human world dissolve.
the musky smell tells lullabies to breeze -
restful, restful, lying under willow trees.
glittering leaves enfold a nest of ease.
here peace & wisdom lucidly evolve.
restful, restful, lying under willow trees -
delusions of the human world dissolve.


- from Rhymes with Pillow, © 2012 Sandy Eastoak

autumn surf


the ocean sings of time

& endlessness.
her depth & vastness make our fears feel small.
her waves ask questions—always answer yes.

i walk her edge when sad or in distress,
restored by ancient power of her call—
the ocean sings of time & endlessness

the drum of surf soothes my restlessness,
resounding rhythms echoed in us all.
her waves ask questions—always answer yes

the coastal light’s more delicate, unless
a storm rolls in, this fading glow of fall—
the ocean sings of time & endlessness

the seaweed cluttered sand suggests duress—
a ripping out of holdfasts in a squall.
her waves ask questions—always answer yes

adversity can also come to bless,
as can the waves that tower like a wall.
the ocean sings of time & endlessness.
her waves ask questions—always answer yes.


© 2011 Sandy Eastoak

love affair



I ate my lunch among the willows,

chewing shyly, like a timid lover
on the brink of intimate touch.
those two big trunks creaked in the wind,
sounding like a minute from breaking
as they have for many a moon.

above the leaves a quarter moon
squinted down at the willows.
the wispy clouds were breaking
softly to show the sky as lover,
stroked by a gentle wind,
quivering blue at her touch.

I stretched my hand to touch
silvery leaves waving at the moon.
my hair moved in the wind,
dancing in parallel with willows,
who whispered to me like a lover.
the crust of culture was breaking.

my fears & rules were breaking,
melting under the confident touch
of my swaying, rooted lover.
knowing the rituals of the moon,
these wise and playful willows
were changing colors in the wind.

we raised the song of the wind,
from mouth & branches breaking—
I & the beautiful willows.
they buzzed under my touch,
my cheek on their bark. the moon
gazed on the waltzing trees & lover.

all afternoon the glow of lover
followed me like a tireless wind,
carrying sweet smell of the moon.
a secret smile kept breaking,
while my skin still felt the touch
of whispering, shimmering willows.

my lover’s murmurs are still breaking
patterns in a wind of feral touch.
with moon as witness, I kiss willows.


from Rhymes with Pillow, © 2012 Sandy Eastoak

pomo boy


he is so small

among the other dancers
his feather skirt
shocking up & away
the wind of
his tiny feet

his motions are
less complex than
the fast dances

sometimes a slow
dance brings him
to animal
stealth

he convinces
the rabbit spirit

here now

he protects
generations

to come



from Poem As Native © 2012 Sandy Eastoak

bear woman


she’s sleeping
now
up in the hills

that’s when i feel her

walking with me

her long claws
available
for my purposes

i feel her
big body
moving like
strength around me

a dark invisible
force
that loves my
best outcome

her fur is warm
& i can walk about
in the cold

safe &
smiling

i eat more meat
& thaw the wild berries
from my freezer

as she pumps them
from her fat

where she sleeps
high up in the
hills

sending down her dream
like power
like a song


- from Dark Love, © 2012 Sandy Eastoak

O FLOURISH ALL YE GENTLE FOLK
(sing to the tune of "God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen")


O flourish all ye gentle folk, let nothing you dismay.
Remember that the sun returns to us on solstice day
To save us all from winter’s cold and hunger’s cruel way.
O tidings of comfort & joy, comfort & joy, O tidings of comfort & joy!


O deepen all ye seeking truth, let nothing you impede.
Remember that the winter’s dark can nourish wisdom’s seed.
Silent changes grow within & to compassion lead.
O tidings of comfort & joy, comfort & joy, O tidings of comfort & joy!


O celebrate ye thankful folk, let nothing you delay.
The miracle of light & dark renews us every day.
Winter, spring & summer, fall—all year the seasons play.
O tidings of comfort & joy, comfort & joy, O tidings of comfort & joy!


Be trustful all ye gracious folk, enjoy the season’s peace.
Renewal of the earth’s sweet green for eons will not cease.
Each winter time our hearts can rest, our burdens all release.
O tidings of comfort & joy, comfort & joy, O tidings of comfort & joy!


Rejoice now all ye gentle folk, be patient come what may.
Remember that the sun returns each winter solstice day,
That passing through the darkest time, we find our brightest way.
O tidings of comfort & joy, comfort & joy, O tidings of comfort & joy!




version © 1990 Sandy Eastoak

WINDROAR

Wind, roar 'round our roofs;
tumble down tonite
from this mammoth sky
to make curtains flail
over Man's billion beds,
in whatever nooks from dark
you find us in.
Blow your swollen song
to our asleep ears
that we might hear:
of the start-less epic
of this murmured Earth;
of this vast dream
we are lost within;
of the fluttered smallness
of our brief flames
scattered in this All-ness.
Now, Wind,
while Mind sleeps;
speak what Mind won’t hear,
to That beneath it.


- gor yaswen

cortinarius

the first one i found
was solitary among the oaks
in a grove riotous
with death caps

it hunkered softly
clearing the fallen
points of brown leaves
just enough to fully
flare its impossibly
pink & luscious
round

its center
slightly ochre
& rising softer than
a furtive breath

how dazed i was
kneeling in the damp
forest litter to ingest
its image in my digital
predator

a few days passed
& i found another
as miraculous as
the first

then another
& another
each solitary &
skimming the fallen
leaves a gentle disbelief
of pink within
the damp shelter
of credulous brown

how excited
when i snapped two
growing together in the grass
their over-folded
lilac rounds feathered
with blades of green

then venturing
past briars & poison oak
to the secret alcove
of an old douglas fir
i found
a ring of them!

a ring of them!

the grace of lilac pink
rising one by one by one
from the mycelium circled
dark world below


within my arch of ribs
i felt a caress across my heart
a sweet kindness from invisible
power

that thinks up such
fragile, transient beauty
blossoming from miles

of one-cell-wide filaments
lasting & strong &
netting the soil in place

even as i stand
in the fir’s shade
or kneel to abscond
with images

i am rocked
in something gossamer
& warm & light

the lilac pink
of cortinarius
is singing

thank you

thank you


*I don’t know if any or all of these pink mushrooms were Cortinarius, but the descriptions are true.

from Praise Poems, © 2011 Sandy Eastoak

INNOCENT


I've been an atom deep inside an oak
for near a century now. But this wind
is threatening, the severing kind, and. . .
crack! The trunk is split; I'm fee to look
at lightning, red clouds, summer's thrash at dusk.

At peace, I bask in weather, gazing up
even when rain begins to fall. "Relax,"
I tell my gnat-electrons, "take your loops
as slow as moonrise - we can sail the air
now that our tree is halved, and glide to Rome
or Santa Fe or Mars; a star's not far -

or we can stay and call this gnarled stump home."

An oak's a cell of beauty; who could have known
its sad limits? I love our freedom so.


from Logician of the Wind, © 2012 Lee Slonimsky

Lee will be reading Saturday, January 26, 7 pm at Sebastopol Gallery.

mushrooms


brown

round flesh
erupting
from dark damp soil
raising gilled secrets
& portents of old doom
into the ground level mist
& then the white ones in a ring
the orange shimmering folded ones
& the spotted red giant by the fence

this fanfare of color & shape declares
the hidden miracle we forget
even while it bestows all year
life to soil & those who need
to eat, to breathe, to love
their mycelium
is the old god
creating
all that
lives



from Praise Poems, © 2011 Sandy Eastoak



An etheree is a 10-line poem whose first line is one syllable, second line 2 syllables, & so on to the 10-syllable last line. A double etheree has a second verse that reverses the progression. Four poems in Praise Poems are double etherees.

crow


when morning brings a flood of lovely things,
the crow begins her search for happy pranks.
she marches cawing through assembled ranks
of black & glossy elders. then she wings
her way to breakfast where a rotting fish
attracts a swarm of blow flies on the beach.
then launching into rising winds to reach
a stimulating view, she soars her wish
for power of the sky. she sees below
the patterned moves of predator & prey.
she drops down to the river where she wets
her beak, then drinks. the sparkling water’s flow
invigorates her ardent love of play—
she saunters up the grass, then pirouettes.


from Corona Fauna, © 2012 Sandy Eastoak


I'll be reading other poems from Corona Fauna to open the WordTemple poetry event tomorrow (Saturday) at 7 pm, Sebastopol Center for the Arts, 282 South High.

13


we touch small miracles & fiercely pray
that bear & elk & antelope return,
that each two-legged person deeply learn
some plant or animal's perceptive way,
that inter-species friendships make us wise
& heal the twisted wounds of human love,
so grass & salmon & the hawks above
define our home & sanctify our ties.
then if we share a bed or sleep alone,
we look across the landscape of our day.
we thank the beings who have blessed our sight
& sift through errors that we might atone.
we melt our tight & angry fears away,
then cradle kindness in our arms each night.



from Corona Gaia, © 2011 Sandy Eastoak

Thanks for the nice antidote, Sandy, to the contentious barking discussion. :pant:

Quote:

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Posted in reply to the post by sandoak:

13

we touch small miracles & fiercely pray
that bear & elk & antelope return,
that each two-legged person deeply learn
some plant or animal's perceptive way,
that inter-species friendships make us wise
& heal the twisted wounds of human love,
so grass & salmon & the hawks above
define our home & sanctify our ties.
then if we share a bed or sleep alone,
we look across the landscape of our day.
we thank the beings who have blessed our sight
& sift through errors that we might atone.
we melt our tight & angry fears away,
then cradle kindness in our arms each night.

from Corona Gaia, © 2011 Sandy Eastoak

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Bless you, Barry.

Quote:

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Posted in reply to the post by Barry:

Thanks for the nice antidote, Sandy, to the contentious barking discussion. :pant:

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cow


she feeds the people her abundant light

she gathers from the pasture’s rolling grass.
her hooves impress small terraces that pass
around the hills, these bovine contours tight
on coastal dairy farms, where drifting fog
enfolds her as she slowly chews her cud.
she relishes calm slogging through the mud,
cool breezes & the frisky farmer’s dog.
on land so nearly wild, what joy to browse
& give her happiness to milking pail!
some other freedom carries scant appeal.
she loves the heat of her companion cows,
their trick of flicking flies while nose to tail-
contentment shared engenders common weal.


from Corona Fauna, © 2011 Sandy Eastoak

millipede

as they evolve our larger lives are changed—
small beings hidden in the dark & damp.
a millipede is not a favored champ,
her little legs in double pairs arranged
along her shiny segments. how she moves
enchants—slow ripples slide her through the leaves.
by undulating headfirst she achieves
a tunnel to her food. she then improves
its strength by engineering bits of dirt.
she eats debris, gives nutrients to soil.
on every segment tiny holes draw breath.
no human’s ever seen if she’s a flirt,
but underground she & her lover coil—
they intertwine our loving with our death.



from Corona Rhea © 2013 Sandy Eastoak

Grandfather Answers
Salamander Camp, August 2008
for Olivia Corson



I ask, “What is held when we hold on too tightly?”
Say something more, Grandfather, than just,
The trees hold nothing,
giving it all to the sky.

Say instead,
The varieties of greens and shadows
of these leaves, these descending, overlapping branches
are the texture of your interior.
When they cut you open they will not find
an anatomy of gray and red. You will not be blood
and sludge. Instead, they will find green needles,
brown twigs, and a single blue stone resting in
moss in the center of your chest, there -
just beneath that place where you
now lay your palm as you approach me and
ask me this question.

Grandfather pauses, regarding me with that silent gaze
he has held now for over eighty years.
If he could speak, he would say,
Mysteries are as common as crows.



-​Bob Engel

The mushroom pictured is quite likely "Lepista nuda" but now called "Clitocibe nuda" , commonly known as the 'Wood Blewit" . It's one of a number of mushrooms that have a subtle and pleasant and distinctive smell. Interestingly some can't detect the smell at all and descriptions vary. Common in Northern CA and can occur both in Fall and Spring.
Read more about it here: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Clitocybe_nuda —
Ron

Quote:

---

Posted in reply to the post by sandoak:

cortinarius

the first one i found
was solitary among the oaks
in a grove riotous
with death caps

it hunkered softly
clearing the fallen
points of brown leaves
just enough to fully
flare its impossibly
pink & luscious
round

its center
slightly ochre
& rising softer than
a furtive breath

how dazed i was
kneeling in the damp
forest litter to ingest
its image in my digital
predator

a few days passed
& i found another
as miraculous as
the first

then another
& another
each solitary &
skimming the fallen
leaves a gentle disbelief
of pink within
the damp shelter
of credulous brown

how excited
when i snapped two
growing together in the grass
their over-folded
lilac rounds feathered
with blades of green

then venturing
past briars & poison oak
to the secret alcove
of an old douglas fir
i found
a ring of them!

a ring of them!

the grace of lilac pink
rising one by one by one
from the mycelium circled
dark world below


within my arch of ribs
i felt a caress across my heart
a sweet kindness from invisible
power

that thinks up such
fragile, transient beauty
blossoming from miles

of one-cell-wide filaments
lasting & strong &
netting the soil in place

even as i stand
in the fir’s shade
or kneel to abscond
with images

i am rocked
in something gossamer
& warm & light

the lilac pink
of cortinarius
is singing

thank you

thank you

*I don’t know if any or all of these pink mushrooms were Cortinarius, but the descriptions are true.

from Praise Poems, © 2011 Sandy Eastoak

---

the willows


the willows bend along the creek.
leaves brightly flicker in the air.
their quiet is the love we seek.

the breezes through their branches speak
the gentle longing of a prayer.
the willows bend along the creek.

some rubbing branches softly squeak
within a stillness quite aware—
their quiet is the love we seek.

some trunks are furrowed, some are sleek—
three salix species thrive & share.
the willows bend along the creek.

among their roots dark waters leak
& eddy where their branches flare.
their quiet is the love we seek.

against their bark i rest my cheek—
how strongly now i feel them care.
the willows bend along the creek,
their quiet is the love we seek.


from Rhymes with Pillow, © 2013 Sandy Eastoak

breakfast


i sit down to eat
in the green & golden
mid morning

noise arises from
somewhere down the street
dull & continuous compressor

tightening my stomach
even as the blessing of food
descends

i wonder
what breakfast was like
when there was no engine noise
within 500 years

did our food laugh
over our tongues
reveal stories to
our inner eye

strawberries singing
in our mouths
the happiness of sun
come warm again

acorn mush teaching
how to sink roots
deep & solid
& become big

pine nuts telling
green breezy tales of
beetles making small tracks
over resinous bark

deer meat whispering
fleetness & grace
unwavering watchfulness
the giving & taking woods

cells of our bodies
struggle to hear
as we chew out of rhythm

all food is eloquent
the silence of nourishment
begs to speak



from Praise Poems​, © 2011 Sandy Eastoak

A question for Sandoak; in reading about the practices of local Pomo in years past, when they did controled burns to tke out underbrush and stimulate growth of certain plants the Pome said that it made the 'potatoes' bigger. Are those potatoes what we refer to as 'truffles'?

Quote:

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Posted in reply to the post by sandoak:

breakfast


i sit down to eat
in the green & golden
mid morning

noise arises from
somewhere down the street
dull & continuous compressor

tightening my stomach
even as the blessing of food
descends

i wonder
what breakfast was like
when there was no engine noise
within 500 years

did our food laugh
over our tongues
reveal stories to
our inner eye

strawberries singing
in our mouths
the happiness of sun
come warm again

acorn mush teaching
how to sink roots
deep & solid
& become big

pine nuts telling
green breezy tales of
beetles making small tracks
over resinous bark

deer meat whispering
fleetness & grace
unwavering watchfulness
the giving & taking woods

cells of our bodies
struggle to hear
as we chew out of rhythm

all food is eloquent
the silence of nourishment
begs to speak



from Praise Poems​, © 2011 Sandy Eastoak

---

Dorothy, I'm not sure what those "potatoes" were. My best guess would be soaproot. The Pomo (and other tribes) baked soaproot and managed gathering areas by burning. The burning kept other plants from encroaching and could have made the soaproot bigger by preventing competition for nutrients.

If I learn something more definitive, I'll let you know.

Sandy

Quote:

---

Posted in reply to the post by Dorothy Friberg:

A question for Sandoak; in reading about the practices of local Pomo in years past, when they did controled burns to tke out underbrush and stimulate growth of certain plants the Pome said that it made the 'potatoes' bigger. Are those potatoes what we refer to as 'truffles'?

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rite of spring


willows dance beside the slowly moving creek.
they swoop & swivel in rhythm with the wind.
his tango is fierce above the water’s meek

& languid waltz steps that linger round the bend
of root & shore. branches costumed bright in bud
plié winsomely, flirtatiously pretend

to forget the wild breakdance of winter’s flood.
wantonly the catkins sway in swift embrace
of sudden gusts, scatter fluff across fresh mud.

the flamenco god of change commands the pace—
the willows fulfill his lead with stunning grace.


from Rhymes with Pillow, © 2013 Sandy Eastoak

OG SKOGEN

Every forest has
a central tree,
one the whole forest
leans on.

You may not
be able to find it.
It lives deep
in the heart.

It may even have
fallen, years
ago, but its memory
is that strong.


Frederick Smock

(Og Skogen means "the forest" or "the pines" in Norwegian.)
reprinted with author's permission from About Place Journal

bear


across the night a feral chorus rings.
the bear inclines her head to catch the tune.
she deeply breathes the shimmer of the moon
& savors every nuance breezes bring.
her heavy body moves with graceful speed
among the trees & up the silvered hill.
she dines on fragrant remnants of a kill
she made three days ago to feed her need.
when satisfied she lumbers down the slope
to taste the water sliding over stones.
in moonlight she observes the minnows dart
& smiles at turtle’s furtive periscope.
she lingers. frogs resume their baritones,
as startled killdeer cries his plaintive part.


- from Corona Fauna, © 2011 Sandy Eastoak

solace


i walk among the willows when i’m sad.

https://www.waccobb.net/forums/wacco...4_10-10-30.png

i speak to them as to a trusted friend.
i hold their furrowed bark between my hands,
i stroke their curve of trunk & scan their limbs.
against the sky they etch their soothing lines,
their shapes & shadows quell my bitter thoughts.
their counsel pleases me. i hope i can
reflect it well within the human realm.
the view that willows see, extending past
the dell, beyond the wooded hill, is not
ideal. they know our foibles & our strife.
they sense the danger fabricated by
our fear, our ignorance, our stinking pride.
they feel the loss of species, melting ice,
the poisoned soil, polluted streams & seas,
& yet they welcome any one of us.
both flexible & tough, they heal our wounds
with beauty, silence & a steadfast grace.
like wendell berry they consider all
the facts & yet are joyous, giving smart
compassion as they stand & root & stretch.
i thank them with an offering of corn
& sing them primal syllables as love.



from Rhymes with Pillow, © ​2013 Sandy Eastoak

lush


in the low damp grove where old willows grow,
briars race with grasses along the ground.
a seasonal creek, with indolent flow,
defines the edges, meanders around
the furrowed roots & trunks. mosses abound
in shadowed nooks. a towhee picks at seeds
she savors as they fall from pregnant weeds.

a deer steps quietly within the glade,
her brown moves hidden in flickering light.
alert, but sweetly at ease in the shade,
she reads all the smells of gathering night.
clouds in the west for a moment flash bright,
plants & animals—all pause & attend.
then darkness comes softly, a gentle friend.




from Rhymes with Pillow, ​© 2013 Sandy Eastoak

O Sarasvati

peaceful goddess of eloquence and intelligence

help us speak the truth precisely in beautiful form

when words are spoken beautifully

there is already truth

when words match truth

there is already beauty

O Sarasvati

compassionate keeper of knowledge and wisdom

help us to learn and share learning with others

clear and graceful communication

is already compassionate action

the power of eloquence

already clears karma

O Sarasvati

eloquent and compassionate one

help us to hear and heed wisdom

in joyful hearing
there is already peace
in peaceful listening
there is already joy

from Twenty-six Companions: Celtic, Buddhist & Native Spirit Guides, © 2013 Sandy Eastoak

O Sitting Bull

great leader of your people
who knew the world of might and the world of spirit are the one world
lead us on the paths of the one world
lead us on the paths that reconnect the sacred hoop

where the voices of all peoples
sing justice and love and hope

O Sitting Bull

great leader in the lands of the dead
help us to make peace among

our red ancestors and our white ancestors

so that peace brings laughter to all people

living on our lands

so that all songs are respected

and joy is shared

O Sitting Bull

great leader of listeners to the many nations
give us ears to hear our animal and plant sisters and brothers

and sing harmony to all their songs

quiet our noise so our gentle heartbeats
make a rhythm in the great singing

so our voices blend
in the great song

from Twenty-six Companions: Celtic, Buddhist & Native Spirit Guides, © 2013 Sandy Eastoak

before


the dinosaurs were splendid & aware,
the loving elders of a younger earth.
did their extinction come without despair?

the hunters & the browsers all to share
the land’s abundance & its cyclic dearth—
the dinosaurs were splendid & aware.

velociraptors built with speed to spare,
the brontosaurus with tremendous girth—
did their extinction come without despair?

did not triceratops defend its lair?
did mating pterodactyls lack for mirth?
the dinosaurs were splendid & aware.

when disaster fell without repair,
& gave to unfamiliar species birth,
did their extinction come without despair?

risks of tipping points we now compare,
regretting our brutality to earth.
the dinosaurs were splendid & aware—
did their extinction come without despair?

REFUSAL


This world of wounds may need a savior now,
but he won't be the one - no taste for crowds,
or hollow shimmer of sudden acclaim -
he doesn't care how many know his name.

Last night's beseechers gone, he sits and broods -
let self-importants lead - he must follow
dawn sun up slow trajectory, oak trees
whose pacifism guides a mild wet breeze,
an ant, a beetle, work, swooping swallows,
and all the world that's not at war. Ignore
the dazzle of illusory esteem.

Greek wounds could heal but he thinks, at the core,
humanity's violent. As flowers sway,
better to just observe a slow new day.


- from Logician of the Wind, © 2012 Lee Slonimsky


Lee will be reading with me at Sebastopol Gallery, 150 North Main, on Saturday, September 28, 2 pm.

“Paashitham”


When I see photos of smiling faces
on walls or Facebook
I ask myself: What was the joke?


Smiling is a genuine gift
that people of a single mother posses.
Most photos that mimic this gift
are not ones after a good joke,
a ridiculous fall out of a chair,
out of the comfort of an infant,
or the love of a thousand moons.
They are ones after “cheese,”
a command, a fabric of happiness
with designs to proves its worth
without the wind to tell its story.


Where is the gift in a trick of the mouth
frozen in the burn of the camera’s flash?
What is known is the image alone,
the rest is a fairytale…

Maybe that’s why Tusanka Witco didn’t want his “shadow” taken.

He had foreseen something
in the camera and the Man behind it
that would change his Oglala people, and tribes like mine,
for the rest of their cultural lives.


The kind that changes fishermen into war chiefs, and war chiefs
into mascots.



San Martinez



Sal Martinez will be reading at Poetry Celebrating the Pomo Way at Coffee Catz on Sunday, October 27, 1-3 pm. This event is part of Pomo Honoring Month.

San Martinez is a proud member of the Manchester/Point Arena Band of Pomo Indians. He is a husband and a father to one son. His family currently resides in Modoc County, Alturas, CA. He works as a Security Guard at the Desert Rose Casino and has been an employee for five years. This poem first appeared in Misfit Magazine.

october evening


soft blush
of dirty air
as the sun drops
& cold swallows
the lingering fake
of summer

garden plants
cry for water
after hours of
dry, dry light
compelling
wilt

the rumble
of cars & trucks
disturbs the distance
that wants to be
all color
all hush



from Dark Love, © 2013 Sandy Eastoak

brigid’s day

bare branches thrashing in the wind,
winter willows clutch the sodden bank
of swollen creek.

they catch the feeble sunlight,
dance it brightly over supple twigs,
buds redden subtly in the cold.

this tiny color change is calendar
to watchful eyes, foretells the turning
when waxing warmth unfolds.

enjoy the bracing chill
& clear, delineated limbs
before impassioned leaves

devour the burning sky
& dusty sun comes yearning
for the shade.


from Rhymes with Pillow, © 2014 Sandy Eastoak

A book launch for Rhymes with Pillow is happening at Many Rivers Books, 130 South Main, Sebastopol, at 7:30 pm, Thursday, February 6.

What Light & Joyful Color you offer to a world in need of such.
Thank you.

the day


a day comes
when selfishness reeks
from every remembered wrong

in the middle of his life
russell means vowed
never again to pray for himself
but only for his people

has that day come for me

that day when the suffering of others
is more compelling than my own

when my role in trouble
means more than
their mistakes

when the sorrow, fear & damage
beneath their mistakes is a story
i hunger to love

what do i decide the day i notice
the mountain of my fault
rugged beside the hill of theirs

what do i choose the day grief
cracks my hide & their
hearts touch me



from Dark Love, © 2014 Sandy Eastoak

another for don


love without truth
isn’t love

truth without love
isn’t truth

where they coincide
is laughter

among the pious
is much love.
are they laughing?
no, they’re singing
hymns

among the existentialists
is much truth.
are they laughing?
no, they’re pulling their
grey collars close around
their skinny necks

on the mountains the zen monks
leap into the air
& click their heels.
their laughter rings
over the valley

there is no laziness
in truth or love.
without effort
they exert attention
to the lowly &
the high

attention takes the shape
of whatever stands before it
becoming truth
becoming love

becoming an inhabited
life

across my spindly tomato
in his plastic pot
drape powdery beaded strands
the aftermath
of oak sex

my petunia folds her red flower
into a browning memory
while her new bud
blushes

i’m hungry
—what’s for
breakfast


from ​Dark Love, © 2014 Sandy Eastoak

My friend Jim Wilson loves syllabic forms and has created one of his own: 100 Friends. Fifteen lines carry 100 syllables over 15 lines in this order: 2, 4, 2, 4, 6, 4, 6, 8, 6, 8, 10, 8, 10, 12, 10.

I've written a sequence of five of these: 500 friends for rain. Here's the first:


prayer


need rain.
how we need rain.
o rain!
o thunderbird!
bring us the big, big rain!
long days of rain
falling softly in mists,
pummeling loudly in torrents,
splattering in puddles,
noisily pouring in downspouts.
thunderbird, roar across our empty sky.
with wet shadow, darken our land.
empty your life-giving clouds full of rain—
first droplets, then trickles, then creeks to our rivers—
our soil, our groundwater—nourished, alive!

from Nuggets, © 2015 Sandy Eastoak

Here's the second of 500 friends for rain*:

confession

this drought,
a climate wound,
tells us
our foolishness,
our affluence must pass.
this way of life
is expressway to death
for 2 legs, 4 legs, wings & fins.
beat the drum. beat our chests.
wail for forgiveness. cry for rain.
fall on the ground & beg to be believed
when we pledge to stop these earth crimes.
no fracking. no tar sands. no endless goods.
no tilling. no poisons. no clear cuts. no excess.
we bend our lives to mend every species.

from Nuggets, © 2015 Sandy Eastoak

*My friend Jim Wilson created an original syllabic form: 100 Friends. Fifteen lines carry 100 syllables over 15 lines in this order: 2, 4, 2, 4, 6, 4, 6, 8, 6, 8, 10, 8, 10, 12, 10.

Here's the third of 500 friends for rain*:

sermon

mushrooms
are telling us
the pain
of long dry soil.
we pray mycelium
still thrives below.
the surface is barren.
a few shriveled caps rise to warn
that the wellspring of life
is depleted, near exhaustion.
engineers can measure our aquifers,
but fungi already witness.
we hear their quiet, ancient eloquence.
the water trees & crops & drinking creatures need
has drained from our land—worse, has been stolen.



from Nuggets, © 2015 Sandy Eastoak

*My friend Jim Wilson created an original syllabic form: 100 Friends. Fifteen lines carry 100 syllables over 15 lines in this order: 2, 4, 2, 4, 6, 4, 6, 8, 6, 8, 10, 8, 10, 12, 10.

Here's the fourth of 500 friends for rain*:


meditation

raining.
in our dreams it’s
raining.
we dream showers,
thunderstorms, & torrents.
even great floods.
or days of mist & fog.
long nights of pattering rooftops.
sleeping dreams or moments
of briefly lowered eyelids are
all the same—images of blessed rain.
the pleasure of peerless weather
cannot still the song of collective heart.
rain, sweet rain, life-bringing rain, come falling, come here.
every good dream is rain & rain & rain.



from Nuggets, © 2015 Sandy Eastoak

*My friend Jim Wilson created an original syllabic form: 100 Friends. Fifteen lines carry 100 syllables over 15 lines in this order: 2, 4, 2, 4, 6, 4, 6, 8, 6, 8, 10, 8, 10, 12, 10.

Here's the fifth of 500 friends for rain*:


blessing


go forth,
one family.
call rain
to the redwoods,
to gardens & pastures,
to chickadees,
to lupines & chickweed,
to boletas, weasels, & crows,
to sowbugs & spiders,
to ducks, salmon, cattails, willows,
to lizards, snails, petunias, butterflies,
to wisteria & finches,
to amanitas, grey squirrels, & rabbits.
every creature kin to us on this land calls rain.
rain for all, water for all, life for all.


from Nuggets, © 2015 Sandy Eastoak

*My friend Jim Wilson created an original syllabic form: 100 Friends. Fifteen lines carry 100 syllables over 15 lines in this order: 2, 4, 2, 4, 6, 4, 6, 8, 6, 8, 10, 8, 10, 12, 10.

The day I got this I saw my first California Sister (butterfly) of the year, looking for water. I'm looking forward to more treasures from you

Quote:

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Posted in reply to the post by sandoak:

Here's the fifth of 500 friends for rain*:


blessing


go forth,
one family.
call rain
to the redwoods,
to gardens & pastures,
to chickadees,
to lupines & chickweed,
to boletas, weasels, & crows,
to sowbugs & spiders,
to ducks, salmon, cattails, willows,
to lizards, snails, petunias, butterflies,
to wisteria & finches,
to amanitas, grey squirrels, & rabbits.
every creature kin to us on this land calls rain.
rain for all, water for all, life for all.


from Nuggets, © 2015 Sandy Eastoak

*My friend Jim Wilson created an original syllabic form: 100 Friends. Fifteen lines carry 100 syllables over 15 lines in this order: 2, 4, 2, 4, 6, 4, 6, 8, 6, 8, 10, 8, 10, 12, 10.

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