Window above Thirteen Thousand Feet

November 16, 2022 ~ Kenneth P. Gurney ~ Leave a comment

Maybe I should not have brought you here.
Paul said to Lori—
the mountain top beneath their feet
the tree line half a mile back.

The air is so thin I see saints through the veil.
Lori said to Paul—
her hand clutched a wisp of cloud
her other hand on a rock to steady herself.

Do you see the miracle workers or the martyrs?
Paul asked Lori—
his eyes searched the present sky
his ears listened for wing flaps.

The everyday saints like single moms.
Lori replied to Paul—
spying women like her mother
who survived husbands lost in wars.

Taos Ski Valley

September 1, 2022 ~ Kenneth P. Gurney ~ 1 Comment

Paul remembered his first kiss.
It was their fifth date.

He did not know they were dating.
He did not see the kiss coming.

It happened in the afternoon.
In the aspens on a familiar trail.

Paul noticed she behaved oddly that day.
On that walk to Williams Lake.

He expected a difficult story
that he was to listen to and not problem solve.

Then the wonder of the kiss under the aspen glow.
The first that became the first of many.

They held hands all the way back
walking on air to the trailhead.

Place of Power

April 30, 2022 ~ Kenneth P. Gurney ~ 1 Comment

A bad road to a vehicle
is probably a good road to walk.

The walk takes you
who knows where.

Bad roads fall off maps
and become lonely places—

places to be alone
among wildlife multitudes.

Out there as you watch the ghosts
of bugs eaten by birds in flight

you may decide it is time
to bury your talisman under freedom.

It may take you days to notice
there are no boundaries.

Neither rivers nor mountains
are boundaries if you learn their ways.

Safe Place

March 22, 2022 ~ Kenneth P. Gurney ~ Leave a comment

Paul sought sanctuary among the aspens.

They granted it after
he dropped on his knees in tears.

They softened the afternoon sunshine.

The aspens shifted him away from the stream
into the center of the grove.

Here they protected him while he grieved.

They mistook his tears
for sap running down his trunk.

For an hour they protected his reflection.

They covered his scent
and stirred the leaves where his footprints marked.

Early spring smelled damp amid snow melt.

Rootlets grew upward
from the soil to touch his knees—console him.

The forest smelled good he remembered.

Dank

January 30, 2022 ~ Kenneth P. Gurney ~ Leave a comment

Paul laments the dead
with whiskey shots
until the world blurs
into a dysfunctional sleep.

A meteor spins downward
through the atmosphere
until it explodes
due to the misshapen friction.

He does not view
his mountain home as utopia
but a heartbreak
when he is away.

All the paperwork for the dead
got signed and delivered.
Properties did not change
but their titles did.

The dispossessed still haunt
the house and the Toyota—
Paul notices the little things
he did not notice before.

The ferryman is long ago paid
but not Uncle Sam.
Paul sorts through financial instruments
looking for a hammer.

He walks miles upon the mountain
but grieving does not find a place
among the boulders, piñon
and dry arroyos.

Paul is more aware of the dark
because he is often awake at night.
He feels lingering sorrows
only when the rain falls on Albuquerque.

Remember

January 22, 2022 ~ Kenneth P. Gurney ~ Leave a comment

My heartsong changes
as my body ages
and certain realities
force themselves
upon my bones
especially in winter.

Some days
I walk through
past refrains
in memory
on the mountains
I topped
and the oceans
whose waves
tumbled me.

Disappointment
never resides
in my mouth
on my tongue
as my powerful voice
disperses to a whisper
before the long sleep.

No Thunder No Lightning

October 25, 2021 ~ Kenneth P. Gurney ~ Leave a comment

Paul asked God to come down
and dangle feet off the end of the pier into the lake—
for them to have a talk about important things.

Paul pushed a tune out of a penny whistle while waiting.
He watched his mirroring image in the lake surface.
How it wobbled through his recent ups and downs.

God arrived as a gentle rain
that settled in the mountain valley
and speckled all the land and water in sight.

Paul spoke his most intimate conversation
with face lifted into the rain.
Drops occasionally interrupted a word

as they hit his mouth deep in his throat.
Or it could be that he choked up
with tears hidden by the falling water.

During this time Paul found his tongue
was made of cedar and magpie feathers
and his skin felt like it unraveled to expose his inner self.

The rain ended as sudden as it began.
Paul felt God rise back to the god place
as the sunshine returned.

We Formed A Quintet

October 24, 2021 ~ Kenneth P. Gurney ~ 1 Comment

We offered our shouts to the sky.
It was all we had that would rise.

I said it was shouts
but it was a very loud song.

We wished to reach the heavens
to let loved ones know we do alright.

We sang from a mountain top
to make the distance shorter.

It was not the tallest mountain in the state
but the tallest we had close by.

Being autumn enough
elk bugled in accompaniment.

Opens Under Fire

September 17, 2021 ~ Kenneth P. Gurney ~ Leave a comment

Paul stands
in a hollow on a mountain.

The hollow does not allow him to view
the broad river valley below.

Most people climb mountains
to view far away things.

Paul hikes the mountain
for a closer look

at the trees and wildflowers
and rock that extends deep into the earth.

Some days he presses his face
into ponderosa pine trunks

to view the variations in bark
and catch a whiff of vanilla.

Other days he sits on a rock outcropping
in a high meadow where pikas live

and watches them become accustom
to his quiet sitting.

They grace him with their presence
and rodent antics.

This is his paradise.
His garden of eden.

He imagines God’s forbidden fruit
described as a pine cone.

Surrounded

June 2, 2021 ~ Kenneth P. Gurney ~ Leave a comment

From the wildflower
protruding granite
where the stream
picks up speed
the aspens draw
Paul’s fascination
into a quizzical expression
as the trees move across
the mountain meadow
without a shepherd
to maintain
their peel-bark layers
as a curtain
around the sacred hart
centered in this grove
as the red deer ambles
lazily grazing.