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I Should Cut Down this Old Crabapple Tree

American Crabapple

I should cut down this old crabapple tree.

Lightning seared it years ago,

Then heavy snow broke it almost in two.

I trimmed and culled to no avail.

Now it sits hunched in the yard

An ugly, stunted gnome of a tree,

Dead twigs and stumps of old wounds

Poking strange and ragged from the green.

I should cut down this old crabapple tree.

But last time I grunted into work boots

And limped on aching knees to fetch the saw,

I stood squinting up into its branches,

My one good eye shaded by this hand

Suddenly more old than middle aged,

Breathing hard through the gap in my teeth

Where the dentist had recently culled,

Then stumped back and put away the saw.

I should cut down this old crabapple tree.

~ Robert Jeager

Bob is a longtime friend residing in Englewood, Colorado and devotee of Mehr Baba. Earthy and deeply spiritual, Bob is a prized mentor and brother in the world of words.

A Blown Steriotype

On my way to work today I pulled up behind a Ford Ranger pickup at a busy intersection. Waiting on the light I began scanning the vehicle for clues about its driver. A large sign was posted in the rear window “Tune In To the Rock 106.9″ . I could hear thudding bass sounds throbbing from the cab.  “Kid,” I thought.

I continued my investigation. Hanging on the rear window was the telltale gun rack. “A redneck kid who happens to like Rock,” I then concluded.

A little to far to make out what caliber weapons were hanging on the rack, I surmised high-powered with large scopes, maybe even AK47, just as well go big when I was imagining. I drew closer.

As I moved within striking distance of the Ranger bumper the racks contents became clearer, fly rods and spinning gear. “What!” my head screamed. “This can’t be!”

What self-respecting kid with a gun rack and a Ranger would be carrying fishing gear where guns ought to be? I was stunned.  My mind couldn’t hold the dissonance.

Then I began to laugh at my propensity to build profiles with little information. 

Sensuous

Jim Tipton’s poetry actually swells the nostrils and moistens the tongue. Few can suggest associations that burst with such flavor and elicit so many instinctive emotions.

James Tipton a Colorado Poet, who lived in Ajijic, Mexico, on the shores of Lake Chapala.

Continue reading “Sensuous”

When Friends Get Together

FRUITA CAVALCADE  Born in the ramblin ‘ inquisitive minds of Cullen and Jeannine Purser  and friends. Cavalcade is quickly birthing another community dream.

The Hot Tomato, Fruita’s fabulous eclectic pizzeria was born from the meeting of like minds on the corner of Mulberry and Aspen below the Fruita Masonic Lodge.  Unlikely place until you look around the intersection and discover other persons dreams in living color. Over the Edge Sports a Single Trackers paradise and Camilla’s Kaffe are directly across the street. Aspen Street Coffee the home of the incredible bean, wonderful goodies and ingenious conversation reaches its sidewalk umbrellas from the diagonal. Around these very cafe tables the flicker which was to become Cavalcade was fanned into full flame. Finally across Mulberry west waits a brewery in the corpse of a recent entreprenurial vision soon to be reborn as The Suds Brothers Micro.

All this is to say that Cavalcade is beginning to thrive in a neighborhood where ideas come to reality over night and draw on the spirit of a young community being reborn in a seedbed laid by a crazy poet, William Pabor, in the former millineum who dreamed of  Ute Indian country becoming a fertile garden fed by life giving canals from the Colorado River.  When you think of it, what better place to begin a new venture.

Cavalcade is a novel idea, people giving birth to the joy of being together and reveling in one another’s individual gifts. Fruita has long been a secret haven for artists and performers who share their gifts elsewhere and return to the cafe tables on Aspen for brew and friendly conversation. Cavalcade now offers a venue for a sharing among friends. This is what originally made Chautauqua, New York what it is today. Is Cavalcade another Chautauqua in the making? Who knows? For sure those who give it life are unconcerned with grandeur only giving expression to what is wholesome, pure and exciting from the human heart. What better place to begin.

I Thought

Written during an annual remembrance of my Dad, I THOUGHT addresses a myth regarding the finality of death.  Other’s may relate to the images of distance and closeness. It reminds me that we seldom have ideal relationships with our parents. Often there are leftovers when they die. In some very important ways, our relationship with each parent (or guardian) continues after their death. I have discovered a deeper relationship with my dad in the years and experiences since his death. I now understand him at a depth that I could never have imagined possible.

I THOUGHT

I thought I had felt all I

      Had to feel for you.

I thought our years of struggle

    To be what we were for each other

       Had extracted all the tenderness

           All the grief

           All the sympathy

       I possessed

I thought the grave

    Would be but dim reminder of losses incurred

       Not scream finality

       Not close any remaining door.

I though my hopes for you

    Had long since been exhausted

       That I held no remaining longings

           No graspable ravels to deaths dull shroud

I thought faint tenderness would hide itself

    Moments your touch opened my soul

       The balm of your presence

           Quieting goblins in the night

I thought life had left me

    No remaining vestiges

         Nothing to prick this conscience

           To spin dark dreams

I thought that this would be the end

    That grave’s grim grasp

       Would free me

       Would close the covers of this story

I thought I would no longer need to weep

I was wrong

On the Death of Dad

Allen Simons

The Old Cookstove by John Winn

Cullen Purser a great friend play with Jon Winn a performer in the 50’s and 60’s with Bob Dylan and others. John is one of the many talents that have settled and perform in the Grand Valley. Cullen was introduced earlier in my blog. He is one of our great young spirits, an artisan, fine carpenter, explorer and voice of hope for tomorrow.

Retirement a New Beginning

Bob Jaeger was born in 1946 in Denver, Colorado. After a number of years wandering and working at jobs as varied as bank teller and oil field rough neck, he settled into teaching elementary and middle school in Littleton. When he retired in 2002, his memories of growing up in Denver were so far removed from the current reality that he moved to Fruita, a small town in Western Colorado, where he lived with his best friend and wife, Gerri, and their two dogs. Reclaiming and remodeling his home in Englewood, Bob and Gerri returned to the Front Range. He continues to Pilgrim to the Meher Baba Spiritual Center in Myrtle Beach, South Carolina. Bob is the father of Matt and Ben, oddfather of Travis and Jenn, and grandfather of Jalyne. He spends his days reading, writing, walking, cooking, enjoying home projects and gardening. Bob´s first book of poems, This Terrible Fragility, was published by Bread and Butter Press in 1988 (see http://bandbpresscolorado.com/fragility.htm).

DENVER CROSSROADS

The Spirit of Mexico

Jtipton_medium

James Tipton

James Tipton lives in Ajijic, Mexico, on the shores of Lake Chapala, where he writes poetry and enjoys village life. His work is widely published, including credits in The Nation, South Dakota Review, Southern Humanities Review, The Greensboro Review, Esquire, Field, and American Literary Review. He is also included in various anthologies and other works, most recently Aphrodite, by Isabel Allende (1998), Bleeding Hearts, edited by Michelle Lovric (1998), The Geography of Hope, edited by David J. Rothman (1998), and The Intimate Kiss, edited by Wendy Maltz (2001), Charity, edited by Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer (Red Rock Press, 2002), Hope, edited by Sophie Elise Lalazarian (Red Rock Press, 2003), Haiku: A Poets Guide, edited by Lee Gurga (Modern Haiku Press, 2003), Readings for Weddings, edited by Mark Oakley, Vicar of St. Pauls (Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge, 2004), and Erotic Haiku, edited by Hiroaki Sato (IBC, 2004).

A collection of poems, Letters from a Stranger, with a Foreword by Isabel Allende (Conundrum Press, 1998), won the 1999 Colorado Book Award in Poetry. His most recent collections of poems are Proposing to the Woman in the Rear View Mirror (www.themetpress.com, 2008), Washing Dishes in the Ancient Village/Lavando platos en el antiguo pueblo (Ediciones del Lago, 2009), and All the Horses of Heaven/Todos los Caballos del Paraíso (www.themetpress.com, 2009)

He is currently working on a new collection of poetry in the ecstatic tradition titled To Love for a Thousand Years and a collection of short stories about expatriates in Mexico titled Three Tamales for the Señor.

Mr. Tipton is a popular speaker and reader at conferences and workshops. In addition to workshops on writing, he also offers workshops on a variety of spiritual topics.

Current Articles by James Tipton

All The Horses of Heaven

WOW – Women On Writing Interview

All I Know is I Built this House

The Wizard of Is

Twenty Miles North of Baggs

 
Danny Rosen
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Twenty miles north of Baggs, Wyoming
we pulled the truck off the highway.
A wounded eagle hobbled in the borrow pit.
The animal woman cornered it by the fence,
threw the blanket, told me,
“The talons, watch the talons.”
Wrapping her arms around the blanket
she worked underneath,
and held the eagle by the legs.
I helped her into the passenger seat
when the blanket slipped:
My eye three inches from eagle eye.
Black pupil on gold iris with black specks.
I lost balance
looking into such definition,
depth of field, clarity.
Such sense of purpose.
Such cold flatness
flying over this warm round planet spying,
crying, listening to a distant heartbeat,
fearing not the breath of death
that is everywhere.
I fell away, away from that eye
into the sky, the clouds, the gathering
darkness, the distance back down.
Shadowy movements darted in the sage.
The wind picked up and I settled in
with a growing hunger.

 That Curve Danny’s recent release.

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