There—the thing on the ground Some insect or other A leg detached Dragged off by ants
It kicks in stupid Futile spasms Insectoid mind buzzing in Some alien tongue Antennae crippled Useless
I step closer Hovering above As this pedestrian drama plays Below me
“Jump, damn you! Save yourself, Worthless grasshopper!”
I am strangely furious at this Pathetic thing This helpless thing As it dies before my eyes
“Get up! Jump!”
I feel the sting of salt In my eyes The tears that have Abandoned me for eons Doubling the writhing thing On the ground Trebling it in a Saline blur
It gazes dumbly At the sky The clouds The sun All too busy in their Mindless journey above To notice what’s below
Another spasm Another kick A pebble bounces away Mandibles scream in Silent rage
I close my eyes I see her The one I couldn’t save The doomed, damned one Who finally broke me in two The crippled one too far gone The one who dragged me to the brink And jumped
Too late
I open my eyes
The ants have returned The thing on the ground Kicks languidly Dispassionately A shudder A twitch
I’m excited to let you know that my poem “Winds of Sorrow” has been published at Chewers & Masticadores. Many thanks to Terveen Gill and her team for sharing my poem with their readers. Terveen’s presence on WordPress is a gift for all writers—not only is she a brilliant editor, she’s also an amazing person who is generous with her support and encouragement. I’m deeply grateful to see my work included at Chewers & Masticadores. Sincerest thanks, Terveen!
“Winds of Sorrow”
“My beloved kiku lay in withered waste Yet their ivory tears still fall Drift against the sides of my heart Winter’s woeful weeping…”
I’d be delighted if you would read the rest of my poem by clicking this link. Also, be sure to follow and subscribe to Chewers & Masticadores—it’s a wonderful place for those who love writing.
I’m pleased to let you know that my poem “When Field Work is Done” has been published at Chewers & Masticadores. Much gratitude goes out to Terveen Gill and her team for their kindness and support in bringing my poem to their readers. Terveen’s ever-present encouragement and love for writing keeps me going and helps me remain connected to the WordPress community even during times of intense writer’s block. It’s both exciting and humbling to see my work included at Chewers & Masticadores. Many thanks, Terveen!
“When Field Work is Done”
“When field work is done and soil tells A tale of fragrant earth in russet tones When ground-mist hunkers in secluded dells And eventide descends upon the swells Of solemn and discordant distant bells…”
I’d be grateful if you would check out the rest of my poem by clicking this link. Also, be sure to follow and subscribe to Chewers & Masticadores—it’s a wonderful place for those who love writing.
I’m happy to announce that my poem “Sea of Trees” has been published at Chewers & Masticadores. I appreciate Terveen Gill and her team for their support and kindness in publishing my poem. Terveen’s tireless enthusiasm for promoting writers and their work is a hallmark of her dedication to her craft. I’m both grateful and humbled to have my poetry included at Chewers & Masticadores. Thank you so much, Terveen!
“Sea of Trees”
“To slake my thirst With dew from leaves that never see the light Arboreal the tears that fall and quench The darkest dreams
To fill my bowels With loam whose cloying scent bespeaks of death Arboreal the taste of living earth My hunger begs…”
I’d be grateful if you would check out the rest of my poem by clicking this link. Also, be sure to follow and subscribe to Chewers & Masticadores—it’s a wonderful place for those who love writing.
“This World is Yours” (c) 2023 by Michael L. Utley
you thought you could save the world wee lad you couldn’t even save yourself
those bleak nighthawk skies where dead stars fall like blood-bloated flies and fey winds howl in deafened ears a behemoth’s fetid exhalation violent and ignorant and inexorable
breathe breathe it all in the sweat-soaked fear the bitter tang of futility fill your lungs wee lad this world is yours as far as tear-blurred eyes can see
pry up decrepit floorboards in the dim derelict cellar of childhood see the blind white-bellied squirming things trundle dumbly, aimlessly in sepulchral voids gelatinous excreta glistening in darkness a treasure trove of memories a box of hell a gift that keeps on giving handle these with care wee lad lest they consume your soul
you battled the familiar demon on twilight moors of yore he wore your scar for years you’ll wear his for eternity wee lad your popsicle stick sword your pie tin shield your best intentions your noble cause did you really think you had a chance in hell of slaying the beast? what’s a little blood between father and son?
the elixir of time is a lie there is no balm for a childhood stripped from its moorings with such casual cruelty
see the sullen sun heliograph dully on the lake of fate see the dun birds peregrinate incuriously above see the reflection on the water the wee old man with hollow eyes and broken soul see the pulsing stormcloud brooding, ever-present on the horizon
the myth of idyllic youth the hue of quicksilver and autumn wheat the clever, cloying scent of false hope the raucous, pealing thunder of sundered souls the thresher’s flail looms and you fall before it as chaff blown from this world on eldritch zephyrs
within the forest of years the darkling path opens before you and closes behind in peristaltic spasms as the trees swallow you in green silence this quiet place devoid of time a resting place a tomb of giants a dying place for those so inclined no memories allowed here nor light nor love nor healing only darkness and the furtive murmur of moon-shadows
you were a boy once for seven years now your ethereal form drifts among strange nameless constellations across forgotten eons you won’t find yourself here wee lad that kid is long gone but you must find something before all is lost
I’m pleased to announce that my poem “Thus the Evening’s Stillness Deepens” has been published at Chewers & Masticadores. I’m so grateful to Terveen Gill and her team for their support and kindness in publishing my poem. Terveen’s peerless enthusiasm for creative writing is inspirational on so many levels. I’m both delighted and humbled to have my poetry included at Chewers & Masticadores. Thanks a bunch, Terveen!
“Thus the Evening’s Stillness Deepens”
“I don’t want to break the peaceful stillness of this winter evening as the gloaming deepens and the shadows freeze upon the hills…”
I’d be grateful if you would check out the rest of my poem by clicking this link. Also, be sure to follow and subscribe to Chewers & Masticadores–it’s a wonderful place for those who love writing.
Autumn Leaf & Ferns, near Trout Lake, southwest Colorado (c) Mike Utley
I have a lot of images from Trout Lake in southwest Colorado, about an hour from where I live. Many of these images don’t feature the lake, such as this one of autumn ferns. The area is heavily forested, snuggled deep within the arms of several mountain peaks. In the summer, wild flowers explode in a profusion of color; in the fall, aspens glow a strident yellow that complements the deep greens of conifers and the cobalt blue sky.
On this autumn day in the late 1990s, my mom accompanied me. She enjoyed getting away from the farm whenever she could, and she loved nature drives and breathing fresh mountain air. We took the dirt road that circumscribes the lake and pulled over in a little clearing of ferns among tall pines and spruces. There were a few bright red amanita muscaria mushrooms still stubbornly clinging to life, and while my mom looked at these poisonous fungi (I’d warned her not to touch them), I set about photographing the ferns whose fronds had begun to turn yellow. On the ground nearby, a small leaf the color of arterial blood caught my eye, and I saw an opportunity to show my mom one of the standard composition guidelines of photography: the Rule of Thirds. Not quite a rule as much as a suggestion, the idea is to divide the frame into thirds both vertically and horizontally (like a tic tac toe grid). Placing the main subject on one of the places where these grid lines intersect—the power-points—generally results in a more pleasing image. As with any rule, there are plenty of exceptions. This rule is overused and can produce cliché images that lack depth and emotion, but sometimes the end result is indeed compelling.
I composed the image, placing the crimson leaf on a power-point and explained the theory as my mom looked through the viewfinder. When I got the slides back from the lab and showed her the resultant image on my lightbox, she could hardly contain her excitement. She adored this image and she felt as though she had played a part in its creation. And she was right: every time I look at this image, I’m reminded of her, just the two of us in the little clearing one autumn afternoon, experiencing nature and being glad to be alive. It may appear to be just another pretty picture, but it’s so much more than that. I was able to share my love for nature and photography with her that day, and part of her lives on in this image. (Canon gear, Fuji Velvia ISO 50)
dusty stew pot her memory lingers by the cold hearth
…..
(#332)
a tiny sun in this cold dark hell golden suisen
…..
(#333)
strings of koto from beyond the bamboo grove my heart breaks again
…..
(#334)
don’t look at me, moon I’m not who you think I am dark night of the soul
…..
(#335)
from my window the mountain; from the mountain eternity
…..
(#336)
green silence and the end of all things sea of trees
(Note: A bit of a title change for this series. I’ve been writing senryu almost as long as haiku and I figured it was time to clarify that these little collections contain both. Haiku pertain to nature and seasons, while senryu address the human condition. The formats are virtually identical; the subject matter differs.)
Pussy Willow Catkin on Twig, near Trout Lake, southwest Colorado (c) Mike Utley
Trout Lake, near the small town of Telluride in southwestern Colorado, is my second-favorite spot on Planet Earth, just behind Heceta Head Lighthouse on the central Oregon Coast. I’ve posted a few images of the lake itself, snugly nestled in the laps of Sheep Mountain, Vermilion Peak, Golden Horn and Pilot Knob amid pine and spruce forests, aspens and a cornucopia of wild flowers. A dirt road circumnavigates the lake, wending its way closer to the peaks and through the woods and bogs. A narrow wooden bridge, which had fallen into disrepair the last time I was there, spans a creek halfway around the lake. It was here, near the collapsed bridge, while photographing elkslip and other wild flowers one summer evening in the late 1990s, that I noticed a lone pussy willow catkin perched on a twig.
I’ve always been enamored with these diminutive delights, tiny and soft and so aptly named (honestly, the term “catkin” is sort of giggle-inducing). There were no willows where I lived on the farm so I’d never had the opportunity to photograph these little guys until now. The light was quickly fading so I set to work. The compositional goal was to isolate the twig and catkin against the background by using a wide aperture setting to blur the background into a solid mass of color in order to make the subject stand out as much as possible. I wanted to express a little story with this image, too, a vignette of the early stages of life, its uphill battle to reach maturity, and the uncertainty that awaits all of us at the end. The catkin was placed on a power-point in the lower left, with the gentle upward arc of the twig leading across the frame to…what? What lies ahead? What of that sudden drop-off at the end of the twig? In life, we may think we have a plan, a goal for the future, but in reality we’re all flying blind. At any moment, our own personal twigs may end abruptly, plummeting us into oblivion. I envisioned the tiny catkin feeling trepidation at the beginning of its journey, leaning back in fear…perhaps steeling itself to perform a Naruto run to the end of the twig and take flight into the unknown. In this brief pause on the cusp of its decision, the air was utterly still, and not a sound came from the forest. Even the ever-present mosquitoes held their collective breaths as they awaited what was coming. I like to think the catkin was preparing itself, screwing up its courage, and calming itself in the cool air and verdant green silence of the woods. And then…
…it’s up to you to decide what happened next. I haven’t returned to this place in years. I hope the catkin’s journey was a happy one, and as brief as this blossom’s lifespan may have been in the grand scheme of things, its ethereal beauty fit right at home in the green silence of the forest, among elkslip, wild irises and columbines. (Canon gear, Fuji Velvia ISO 50)
Silent Pariah 