Twisted Cowboy Blog

Late winter Montana morning
momentarily silent
when the distant line of semis
headed for ‘90
break for coffee.

Chickadees silently rioting
around the new feeder,
swooping to trees and back,
tirelessly sorting
sunflower seeds from millet,
sample suet and
decorate the deck
with cross-hatched bird foot designs
on a pure white canvas.

On north slopes,
icy snow skeletons brace themselves
for another forty-five-degree day,
their frozen fingers reaching
down to the fence corner flat spot
where horses, standing on three feet,
absorb sun and shed tufts
of Sorrel, Paint, Gray and Bay
into nests with baling twine foundations.

Alfalfa leaves, impossibly green,
florescent against gray sage,
are left for a mid-morning snack
as dogs sniff
with Spring in their step
fragrances released
from frozen stasis
into obsessive noses,
impairing their hearing
as I holler,
"Leave it alone!"
constantly.

>© John Michael Reedy, Twisted Cowboy Music (ASCAP). All rights reserved. These words may not be reprinted or reposted without the author’s written permission.

July’s scalding wind scattering black confetti.
A smoke squall, a column eclipsing the Divide,
torching spruce, spotting outside fire lines.
Sparks in the canopy, igniting drought-dried trees.

Like the full moon rising we watch the fire light,
picturing favorite places smothered, forever changed,
unwilling to envision the fate of elk and stray cattle.
While sleeping, smoke settles, waking the animal self.

Dreams of cool zephyrs, meadows snow-swollen.
Sunrise screened through viscous smoke.
800 blistered firefighters battling scorched timber
Slurry filled air support, unattainable containment.

Then, a singular breeze, snow dusted granite,
A shrug from nature, a chance to catch our breath.

Reprinted from Twisted Vignettes: Poems and Photographs.

She’s asleep
in her beautiful cubicle
dreaming
over documents
dry as the dusty ranch road
her mind travels down.
Her dog
ecstatic
on the flatbed,
a burst of alfalfa smelling salts
through her side window,
the singular shadow of Ted
grazing
and swatting flies
with his flaxen tail
on a summer evening
in Montana.
Twisted horsehair rope
in her hands,
blue jeans
tucked
into her boot-tops,
grass belly-deep
in the pasture
as he raises
his head.
She rides bareback
as the summer sun
sets
slowly
through the dry haze
of dirt road dust
in the valley.

Reprinted from Twisted Vignettes: Poems and Photographs.