(c) 2023 by Michael L. Utley
(#325)
to write is to breathe
and I am suffocating
in silence
…..
(#326)
speak again of joy
and the warmth of summer days
your lies are comforting
…..
(#327)
pond ice
stretched thin as hope
and equally deceptive
…..
(#328)
some write of joy
I write of experience
would they were the same
…..
(#329)
pardon my sorrow
and forgive my weeping soul
a poet’s lament
…..
(#330)
hope comes and goes
and lasts for but a season
winter snow
I’m particularly delighted to announce my good friend and fellow writer Diana Wallace Peach has chosen to feature my blog on her Weekend Blog Share at Myths of the Mirror blog. I’m deeply humbled that she chose to showcase my blog this week. Diana is an accomplished writer and poet and her blog is a treasure trove for anyone who loves good writing and amazing story-telling. She’s also one of the kindest, most supportive and encouraging people you could ever hope to meet. Thanks so much, Diana, for this honor. I truly appreciate it, my friend!
You can check out Diana’s Weekend Blog Share post by clicking this link.
Lisbon Valley is a relatively nondescript region in southeast Utah near Canyonlands National Park. While its redrock sandstone formations don’t rival the majesty of those found in Canyonlands and Arches National Parks, it has its own hidden marvels, its own unique personality. In the late 1990s, I spotted this rock formation while exploring one late-autumn evening. I was intrigued by several aspects of this scene: the contrasting, opposing oranges and blues; the split-personality of the formation, with half in bright sunset light and the other half in dark shadows; and the looming presence of the formation compared to the diminutive form of the lone juniper tree on the left. And above all, a contemplative stillness. Some might say there’s a David-and-Goliath theme here, a sense of immutable power being challenged by stalwart–if fragile–determination. However, I see something else here…a sense of sorrow, a reaching-out from weakness to strength as the tree casts its shadow on the base of the tower in supplication, as if seeking consolation. A sense of loneliness and isolation. I identify with that juniper tree. I feel deeply that sense of yearning to be a part of something but always finding myself standing on the outside, looking in. Try as it might, the closest that tree will ever come to connecting with that rock is by casting its shadow upon it once a day just before the cold night falls. Such is life in the desert; such is life in this world. (Canon gear, Fuji Velvia ISO 50)
(c) 2022 by Michael L. Utley
(#319)
the trees believed once
before they lost everything
the lies of winter
…..
(#320)
for whom do you seek
there’s no one here but me
long night moon
…..
(#321)
fetch the sickle moon
let us harvest ice blossoms
winter star fields
…..
(#322)
sorrows of autumn
kindle the warmth of winter
the blazing hearth
…..
(#323)
this bitter cold
reminds me I’m alive
and why I wish I weren’t
…..
(#324)
in each flake
a brief eternity
the grief of winter
(c) 2022 by Michael L. Utley
(#313)
my world begins and ends
at my window
lonely winter moon
…..
(#314)
blood and feathers
the sky falls into my palm
a young boy’s shame
…..
(#315)
calligraphy of sorrow
etched on her wrists
autumn’s demise
…..
(#316)
fast asleep
in the heron’s belly
the stilt hut
…..
(#317)
one cup one bowl one spoon
and a thousand silences
winter’s bitter feast
…..
(#318)
when it’s time to laugh
I will laugh; until then
let me cry
I’m delighted to announce that my poem “Odysseus” 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 is a writer’s greatest ally and her steadfast encouragement is a bottomless font of inspiration. I’m both honored and humbled to have my poetry included at Chewers & Masticadores. Many thanks, Terveen!
“Odysseus”
“I saw Odysseus sprawled on the sidewalk between
The squalid little deli and the boarded-up
All-night video place whose weather-stained
Posters advertised GIRLS GIRLS GIRLS
Amid obtuse indecipherable graffiti and
A fallen constellation of multi-hued shards of
Broken glass that crunched underfoot like
Bone fragments
The patina of snow about him
Pristine in its absence of footprints from
Passers-by…”
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.
There’s nothing quite like a country rain. In the region where I live, summer thunderstorms bring the arid landscape to life as everything seems to shimmer and glow, and the scents of wet sage, pine, juniper, earth and fresh air assault one’s olfactory sense like a heady brew. In this image from the late 1990s, this blue lupine had found refuge beneath a pinyon pine and rode out the storm relatively unscathed, unlike many others that were damaged by the intensity of falling rain and were left standing among tatters of petals. Macro-photography is fascinating, especially when exploring the hidden inner worlds of wild flowers, and this lupine made a perfect subject with its brilliant hues and clinging raindrops. I’m left with the impression of each individual blossom craning skyward, open-mouthed, in an attempt to drink in as much rain as possible. In an area that receives around ten inches of precipitation annually, summer rains are vital for the environment to remain balanced (and also pose the threat of wildfires). The beauty of wild flowers is exquisite and all-too-brief, so capturing these examples of nature’s haiku was a priority for me during my days as a nature photographer. (Canon gear, Fuji Velvia ISO 50)
(c) 2022 by Michael L. Utley
(#307)
dry gourds rattle
among cautious deer hooves
the forgotten garden
…..
(#308)
sing loudly, moon
for my heart is deaf
and my soul yearns to dance
…..
(#309)
there is peace
in the aftermath of tears
the joy of sorrow
…..
(#310)
let go the acorn
trust the earth
to keep its promise
…..
(#311)
an eternity
from your eyes to my heart
a tear’s journey
…..
(#312)
dull silence
a stone flung at a post
a summer’s field in winter
(c) 2022 by Michael L. Utley
(#301)
in sleeping woods
the scent of burning bark
the fragrance of memories
…..
(#302)
the tilt of her head
as she looked at me
the burned bridge
…..
(#303)
cairns of river stones
lest the stream forget
its sorrow
…..
(#304)
these old coins
both priceless and worthless
a wealth of emptiness
…..
(#305)
swift, swift the stream
and all it sweeps away
the torrent of the years
…..
(#306)
among the rushes
the blur of silent koi
and dreams of oblivion
Juniper Tree on Rocks, near Canyonlands National Park, SE Utah (c) Mike Utley
I’ve always found something jarring and surreal about desert landscapes, and even more so with regards to intimate desert portraits such as this half-dead juniper tree growing among sandstone boulders. In such a sere, austere environment, life somehow not only manages to exist, but to persist against all odds. I came upon this scene in 1996 while exploring near Canyonlands National Park in southeast Utah one late-summer afternoon. I was struck by the sheer audacity of the stunted, crippled juniper as it clung tenaciously to the sandstone, its roots delving between cracks, seeking the sand below in hopes of the promise of moisture. It’s a common tableau in the desert. What lives there has earned the right to survive through adaptation and sheer luck.
I think what really stands out, however, is a sort of duality present in this scene: the split personality of the tree as one half thrives and the other diminishes; the limited color palette of orange-brown and graduated blue –opposing hues on the color wheel; and the curious negative space at the bottom left corner provided by a rocky protrusion in complete shadow. It appears as though someone has torn the corner off the image, creating an odd sense of mystery, and serves to almost throw the image off-balance—a black nothingness to contrast with the vital, living essence of the tree.
From a technical standpoint, it was a simple shot. I used a 24mm f/2.8 wide-angle lens to frame the image, and a polarizer filter to eliminate glare on the sandstone and juniper leaves, which also enhanced the natural color gradation in the sky.
This image is among my favorite desert photos. It doesn’t hold the majestic grandeur of a sprawling vista, and it’s rather prosaic in nature (it’s a tree on a rock), but it speaks to me of contrasts and opposites, a subconscious pulling and pushing, and an enigmatic, contemplative stillness, a recurring theme in my nature photography. (Canon gear, Fuji Velvia ISO 50)
Silent Pariah 