A Touch of Winter

Tonight i tasted winter
she was sweet
and crisp
tempting me
with the promise
of coo, dark, sleep
and reflection
Through the sky
she danced
with fluid motion
tossing leaves
and caution to the wind
Oh, that Winter,
she can be a wicked
child
throwing tantrums
and wreaking havoc
blanketing the world
in white
In her mischief
lives an inherent wisdom
She tells us
calmly and firm
"Slow down,
Breathe"
"Get cozy,
Breathe"
"Hunker down
get your mind straight,
Breathe"

september

I wrote this poem last week as September made it's way into my life. I'm glad that we have had a cooling weather pattern since then, but I still wanted to share.


September arriving
on a warm morning breeze
leaving August behind
the Texas heat
is stifling
and I dream up
cooler temperatures
and rain
snow on the prairie
blooms in stars of white
while trees and grass dry out
nearby
i too feel dry
kids mold clay
and talk about Africa
i suppose the heat
is stronger there
next week
i'll break out
primary colors
and we'll paint
our visions
into existence

notes on a rainstorm

i'm cleaning the cabin

after a week of deep green

on the south toe,

outside, the mother bird

huddles deep into

her corner porch nest

as thunder rolls and rain

comes down hard

i mop

mother nature replenishes

in unison

we freshen the spaces

surrounding us

i jump the gap

heading down the rock walk

to run a load of things

for packing in the car

but she catches me

now, wet

i too am washed

by her majesty

Little Deer, March 11, 1196-June 12, 2011

A poem by Jim Veteto

Little Deer (March 11, 1996-June 12, 2011)

Never before

had I seen a dog

climb vertical rock mountain walls

run with albino deer

hunt down white possum

and birds out of trees in winter.

You traveled the whole wide country with me

into deep wilderness

numerous Indian reservations

Earth First camps

and rainbow gatherings.

You sensed things

--often before me--

and gave me that look

of awareness and concern

A true pack animal

yet one of a kind

You came to us

when Hale-Bopp was in the sky

a full moon

and the planets aligned.

You left us the eve

of an intense Appalachian lightning storm

gone down to the pond

to end it all.

I always felt

you were an indigenous dog

one left over from the old Indian camps

that may have mixed with more modern breeds.

The way you moved

the way you hunted

more cat-like

than dog

and you crossed your legs in front of you like a proper princess.

Today you are gone back to spirit

and tonight we celebrate your life

around the pyre.

Little Deer Woman

your spirit lives on among us

we will always tell the tale

of your life and times.

Summer Journey on the Horizon

dreaming of lush green
of songbirds singing
and splashes of color
flitting by
on the tip of my mind's tongue
i can taste
the dew soaked air
and feel the mountain
kiss my cheek
while feathery hemlock boughs
gently brush against
my shoulder
a flutter within
as my heart
finds its energetic connection
and clouds roll like waves
over ridges
thoughts blow by
on the whipping winds
of the prairie
with grasses waving hello
and goodbye

at lake Ray Roberts

in a half asleep state
i hear and feel the wind
against the taut tent fabric
it ripples and sways slightly with the gusts
leaves picked from tree limbs
or the forest floor
occasionally pitter-pattering upon the rain fly
i am concerned there may be rain
through the fabric
i can see a hint of moonlight though
and i am reassured that the clouds
hold no moisture
the air is crisp and cool
refreshing to breathe in
a rejuvenating elixir offering relief to my lungs
filled with the city
in and out of slumber i drift
interrupted by the night sounds
i am no longer used to
in the dim of morning
a chickadee sings nearby
a cardinal lends his voice
and an unfamiliar trill
greet me with the joy of a new day
i lay quietly and listen to their song
coming to me on the still blowing wind

death valley by night, a favor granted

On the heels of our journey i wanted to share some thought in the form of a poem.


in the desert
death valley by night
a favor granted to me
the air smells
of rock and earth
big old truck
sends a wave of exhaust
it disrupts my breathing
110 degrees at 9pm
it's dark and the temperature is rising
this is outside my realm of experience
my wild side perks up
with head out the window
the dense heat
fills me with life
the sweat drips down
my spine
the stars bright
above this awesome
and terrible landscape
my boy, baking in the back seat
begging for ice
brings me back from the reverie
i feel the strength
and majesty of
this old place
ancient white stone
huge old beings
wish me a safe journey

wandering the greenpath

I returned home this evening from a deep place. My family and I attended a gathering in western NC focused on the green path. What is the green path you're wondering? Well, it's a lot of different things rolled into one. For me it means learning to exist in harmony with our sacred mother earth as well as her other inhabitants, and being in tune with the plants surrounding us that help give us food and medicine, clothing and shelter, appreciating that the water we have to nourish our bodies is a gift that we as humans cannot live without, knowing that many if not all of my actions do have an impact on someone else somewhere whether directly or indirectly, allowing myself to breathe deep and feel connected to the essence of life that exists in every living being.

Sharing space in the woods with other like minded individuals, hiking with my boys, cooking for others, weaving a bittersweet basket, washing my face in the cool mountain stream, hearing the rain falling on the tent, eating wild foods and fresh picked greens, sharing stories about old friends, re-connecting, just taking the time to slow down and be, made for an exhilerating experience. I feel rejuvenated and grounded and back in touch with my inner self. Ah, springtime in Appalachia always makes me feel whole.

i could hear the trees,

branches swaying,

and the chill breeze blew me backwards into birdsong,

clear and loud,

the land heaved a deep breath and the mayapple danced,

my spirit resounded with joy

green grows the sringtime

Hole in the Yard by:Ian Veteto

There is a hole in the yard.
There is a hole in the yard.
What do you think lives in the hole in the yard?
A snake?
Or a bunch of worms?
Or is it just a hole in the yard?

Oh I love the glow of greens growing in the springtime, and the taste of them too. We harvested our first greens this week including kale, mustards, spinach and radishes as well as some lettuce. They were all so very delicious.




We have so much packed in there since I direct seeded that we can eat what I thin out and I have plenty of already growing beauties to create a whole other bed of greens:) The bounty of the plant world is pretty much never ending.

It will still be a while before they are ready to harvest but our little English peas are slowly making their way towards the trellis so they can climb, climb, climb.

Just a pic of some busy bees loving the spring days. This is a hive that the folks we rent from thought was on its way out a while back and then realized that it was still thriving. So, here you can see these honey bees made it through the winter and are seemingly doing very well. Ian and I watch them going about their business pretty much everyday. There is still hope for the bees, hooray! This hive is untreated, unattended by human hands, and doing great!

Girl Scout

This is a poem I wrote last year and performed at the Poet's Loft in Hot Springs, AR. Consider that you have now been let in on one of deep dark secrets.

abstraction

i awoke to a world
washed with gray
the wet colors dripped
in muted hues
swirling together
forming deep, foreboding
tidal pools
waves, foam roaring
crashed
upon the bleached shoreline
an akward step
over rocky terrain
i stumble down
my face planted
in the fresh mud
it is rich and soft
i can taste the millenia
and forgotten lands

below me
the ground opens
i slip into darkness
quiet and stillness
reign in this place
of sensory deprivation
there is time to contemplate
if i really exist