Wednesday, October 2, 2013

Shasta Lake by J.R. Dietrich

I am honored to welcome J.R. Dietrich as our guest blogger today.  He is an artist in a multitude of mediums and an incredibly gifted teacher.  He is perhaps most importantly (to me at least) my dad and I love his poem that he chose to share with us today.

"We are told that all creation tells the glory of God...but are we listening?"

Shasta Lake
The flutter and flap of the canvas awning echoes the lapping water.
Pines and sweet potato banks light up in the cool sunrise
Rise to the peels and sketch wild blackberries for breakfast

Cold night sleeping compasslike
head to the full moon, feet pointing to the big dipper, pondering true north.
You kept me warm last night with the softest down and silk from your youth

The wind tugged and poked at my blue shroud
all night till the blue mountains went purple.
The sunrise calmed my fears while my sail luffed gently in the wind

Less breeze, more cold,
the down has slipped and the silk won’t warm
Wake up and fluff the feathers under moonshadows


What a surprise to see bats and butterflies
one in the night twilight skies and
the other among the pines.

Mr. redhead sharpbeak
touch of the berry in the garland pine
a little taste of the cardinal thinking cap
your call betrays you
as counterfeit
a summer clown
with snow striped wings you
bob on your air sled
to the next holiday meal.

A helix of six vultures
wingtips transparent in the sun
swoop and lift like the DNA chain of a zephyr
Searching lack of movement
smell of death
black like
their own bodies closing
the chain of life.

A man should know the night sky like he should know the phases
of the moon and the constellations as they wander westward following the sun
A man should be able to look into blackness and see the light shining through.

The geese awake me.
A vaporous serpent swallows
Mars and steps over the gibbous moon (she and Venus can not be eaten.) 
A mourning dove murmurs for her mate,
lost now almost a year.
A line of crows (or starlings) rides a current in a single undulating line
then like a waterfall descend into the waking horizon.
A pair of kites silently squabble
then rise to the smiling moon.

The dove again mourns the
waking day and the decay of mystery.
Up the ravine, shadows fall
unveil footsteps of harts.
I follow them to the flat where
goosedown gathers and waterwalkers skate
upon the mirrored lake.
The tumble of water almost drowns out the bees
as they forage among the orange and yellow.

A lone hummingbird rescued from the fall
now tastes the sweet nectar of sunrise and
two dragonflies become one...

1 comment:

  1. It never ceases to amaze me how one can paint with words so deftly and vividly. Scenes of Shasta burst back into my conscious mind and all at once I was blissfully on the houseboat once more!