(c) 2022 by Michael L. Utley
(#277)
my soul’s tourniquet
staunches words but not the pain
I weep in silence
…..
(#278)
strip me of my layers
to my core of nothingness
then you’ll understand
…..
(#279)
an errant snowflake
drifts through my paneless window
and freezes my heart
…..
(#280)
yuki no hana
coldness blossoms in my heart
my endless winter
…..
(#281)
I am not afraid
to say I am terrified
of what lies ahead
…..
(#282)
I am shamed by fear
my coward’s heart quails in the
shadows of my soul
Green & Brown Acorns, Southeast Utah (c) Mike Utley
When we think of oaks, we tend to envision stately, majestic, robust trees with brawny boughs festooned with squirrels and tree houses. However, the farm on which I was raised in southeastern Utah sported no such giants. Instead, their gnarled, stunted cousins—Gambel oaks—thrived in the arid climate. We called them oak brush or scrub oak, and this species belongs primarily to the Four Corners region of the U.S. (Utah, Colorado, New Mexico and Arizona). Small copses of this species covered much of the farm, and in the fall their dull brown leaves were the epitome of anti-climax when compared to the canary yellow of the elms and aspens. Brilliant palettes of lichen covered the twisted trunks of these trees that could sink roots even in sandstone. As a kid, I considered them the apotheosis of banality. I mean, it’s pretty pointless to climb a tree that will buckle under your weight, and when you’re a kid, an unscalable tree is a tree without a purpose. All they seemed good for was giving perch to squawking magpies and providing shade for cottontails. But their acorns were little treasures, lustrous green with finely textured cupules that resembled tiny little kilts (a shout-out to my Scottish heritage).
One autumn in the late 1990s, I gathered a couple of handfuls of these green gems, most of which had fallen to the ground and were destined to end up in a magpie’s beak or a squirrel’s belly. They seemed to glow of their own inner light, and I wanted to capture their hues and textures on film. I arranged them in a rusty pie tin on an old splintery wooden bench in the backyard and photographed them beneath an overcast sky to eliminate any harsh contrast. I added a lone brown acorn to the shot to liven things up a bit, placing it near one of the power-points to draw the viewer’s eye. I was pleased with the final result. And an interesting thing occurred… Nearly everyone who viewed this image immediately began interpreting it, all because of that single brown acorn in the corner. “This image is obviously a treatise on life and death…” Or, “This photo speaks to the evils of ageism, where the elderly are being pushed out of society just as the youthful green acorns are shoving the old brown oaknut right out of the frame…” Or, “Racism. This image is all about racism…” And I’d sort of grin and shrug my shoulders. How could I disappoint these folks with the truth? How could I burst their pretentious intellectual bubbles by telling them, “Hey, I just liked the colors and textures, and I stuck the old brown acorn in just for contrast”? To paraphrase Freud, “Sometimes an acorn is just an acorn…” And for those who are wondering, yes, I did pick a few from the branches, but after the image was made, all the acorns were distributed beneath the oaks where the magpies, squirrels and chipmunks would easily find them and deposit them in their larders. (Canon gear, Fuji Velvia ISO 50)
Autumn Colors & Cirrus Clouds, near Dunton, SW Colorado (c) Mike Utley
In October 1997, a coworker at the camera store where I was employed invited me to accompany him for a day of fall colors photography in southwest Colorado. We headed out early and made our way to the off-the-beaten-path area near Dunton, a tiny unincorporated hamlet which sits at about 8,600 feet elevation near the West Fork of the Dolores River in the San Juan Mountains. My friend Robert, an accomplished photographer and former hang-glider pilot, knew the area like the back of his hand, having hiked, fly-fished and photographed there for many years. I’d been through Dunton as a kid but didn’t recall much of it. On this morning, bleary-eyed and exhausted from no sleep the night before (a pox on my insomnia), it was all I could do to keep my eyes open as we navigated the dirt roads in his white Isuzu Trooper. Robert was talkative and I was hard-of-hearing, so the conversation was one-sided. The morning, however, was brilliant, warm with a cobalt-blue sky and a suggestion of a breeze. Colorado is famous for its yellow aspens in the fall, and after a time we found a pleasant spot to stop and hike. And as exhausted as I was, I ended up with a handful of decent images, including this one of a group of aspens on a slanting hillside. I woke up in a hurry when I saw this scene. The contrast of the yellow and pale green leaves and dark blue sky, accentuated by the horsetail cirrus clouds and the neutral-toned grasses, was stunning. I used a polarizer filter to eliminate glare on the leaves, which highlighted the clouds and darkened the sky a bit. The colors popped with an intensity only autumn foliage in Colorado can summon. I made a few other images that morning, but this one stands out to me. The clouds, the contrasting yellows and blues, and the diagonal slope of the hillside all came together to create one of my favorite fall foliage images. (Canon gear, Fuji Velvia ISO 50)
I’m pleased to announce that my poem “Kintsugi” has been published at Chewers & Masticadores. Many thanks to Terveen Gill and her staff for their kindness and support in publishing my poem. Terveen is peerless in her encouragement and inspiration, and I’m humbled and delighted to have my poetry included at Chewers & Masticadores. Thanks so much, Terveen!
“Kintsugi”
“In the winter hour
Of my broken soul
This fragile vase cannot contain
My essence
It sits cracked
On the cornerstone of my hut
Catching melting snow
From which my heart drinks…”
I’d be grateful if you would check out the rest of my poem by following this link. Also, be sure to follow/subscribe to Chewers & Masticadores—it’s a wonderful place for those who love writing.
I’m happy and humbled to announce that my poem “Hana no Niwa” has been published at Chewers & Masticadores. Much gratitude goes to Terveen Gill and her staff for their kindness and support in accepting my poem for publication. Terveen’s unwavering encouragement is a wonderful inspiration, and I’m honored to have my poetry included at Chewers & Masticadores. Many thanks, Terveen!
“Hana no Niwa”
In the restless nights
In the small flower garden
Spider lilies weep
Mournful beneath midnight moon
Dreaming higanbana dreams
They cry in silence
Do they know for whom they grieve
Do they remember
It was you who planted them
It was you who gave them life…”
I’d be grateful if you would check out the rest of my poem by following this link. Also, be sure to follow/subscribe to Chewers & Masticadores—it’s a wonderful place for those who love writing.
I’m pleased and honored to announce that my poem “Shinrin-yoku” has been published at Chewers & Masticadores (formerly MasticadoresIndia). Many thanks to Terveen Gill and her staff for their kindness and support in accepting my poem for publication. Terveen’s wonderful encouragement knows no bounds, and I’m delighted to have my poetry included at Chewers & Masticadores. Thanks so much, Terveen!
“Shinrin-yoku”
I have bathed in forest’s em’rald essence
I have nestled, secreted away, in
Jade konara copse
I have placed my palms
Soft upon the scabrous skin of giants
Whose slowly beating hearts have shattered stone
Whose deeply delving fingers grip the earth
In lover’s embrace
Eternity is far too brief a time
For such a love as this, for such a love
Trees have for the earth
I have for the trees…
I’d be grateful if you would check out the rest of my poem by following this link. Also, be sure to follow/subscribe to Chewers & Masticadores–it’s a wonderful place for those who love writing.
(c) 2022 by Michael L. Utley
(#271)
blurred images and
a smudge of words on a page
is this all I am
…..
(#272)
puddle of cold wax
where my candle burned out
waiting for the light
…..
(#273)
thirty-six hours
between my tears and your death
a lifetime since then
…..
(#274)
fallow fields, dry ponds
fences in disrepair
long-dead memories
…..
(#275)
hope stretched thin and taut
across brittle bones of time
a dry husk of life
…..
(#276)
sorrow’s bedrock or
hope’s aquifer; either way
naught left but to dig
I’m pleased and honored to let you know my poem “It’s Not Lost” has been chosen for a Poetry Partners collaboration on The Skeptic’s Kaddish website. Many thanks to David Bogomolny for including my poem in his collaborative project. Please check out David’s blog to read the collaboration here. David is a prolific and amazingly talented poet whose work I admire, and I’m sure you will, too. Thanks, David! 🙂
“You There”
(c) 2022 by Michael L. Utley
I can only bleed so much
but it’s never enough
to satisfy you, is it
nevermind my shattered soul
and flesh flayed wide
no secrets left
no shadowed clefts
to hide what’s left of me
just the cold glare of reality
and the medicinal stench
of silent eternity
you there
who wields the hammer
of sanity
whose blood-caked hands
crush worlds
whose vacuous eyes
speak of
distant crimson suns
and blue corpse-light
you there
who rends flesh from bone
blackens sun and moon
you there
whose wretched grin
devours universes
vaporizes souls
you there
what is it you want from me
my essence torn
cell from cell
bones a useless armature
not even a sigh left
in my lungs
all that remains is my mind
and that’s what you want
isn’t it
I have known you
all my life
your honeyed lies
and soothing growls
drain existence of
hue and humor
your breath upon my neck
fetid and abominable
your raging roars
shake my skull numb
but you shall not have
my quicksilver trees
and lavender skies
my sickle moon dozing
above autumn wheat fields
my green silence
in konara copses
my humming leas
of flea bane and lupine
and forest-carpet ferns
these are mine
forever
you there
you will destroy me
in the end
but my world
will live on
free of your rage and
blight and bluster
and that is
all that matters
I’m honored and humbled to share with you that my poem “Koto no Yume” has been published at Chewers & Masticadores (formerly MasticadoresIndia). This is the fulfillment of a life-long dream for me—to be a published writer—and I’m deeply grateful to Terveen Gill for her unwavering support and encouragement. Thank you, Terveen, and everyone at Chewers & Masticadores for your kindness in making this happen.
“Koto no Yume”
In dreamland forests of my soul I hear
What deafened ears in waking cannot know
A yearning in konara groves
That lilts in silent soft-edged shadows calls
The stream conversing with the hart has hushed
Its liquid-silver voice now mute…
I’d be delighted if you would check out the rest of my poem here. Also, be sure to follow/subscribe to Chewers & Masticadores–it’s a wonderful place for those who love writing.
Silent Pariah 