tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-63923288338198476462024-02-07T01:55:28.093-08:00The FurrowThe thoughts, ramblings, prose, and poetry of a born again "bachelor farmer." Joseph Porter Wellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04079209481152566040noreply@blogger.comBlogger38125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6392328833819847646.post-20555451553272147152016-12-24T00:51:00.004-08:002016-12-24T00:53:58.094-08:00How much that we do, is in hope of something else? <br />
The moon is full, <br />
Seed heads hang heavy on stalks of grass, <br />
Leaf growth is slow. <br />
It's hot.<br />
August, like march, promises much.<br />
<br />
How often are we disappointed? <br />
How often does September come, like April, <br />
with not enough rain, <br />
or to much? <br />
<br />
We tie flies in summer, dreaming of winter fish.<br />
<br />
During lambing <br />
in the spring, <br />
<br />
We tie flies, dreaming of summer steel head.<br />
<br />
Now in late summer I irrigate fields, in hope of fat fall lambs.<br />
<br />
High prices/Lbs. on the hoof, and enough water in the creek to hold us till the rain comes.<br />
<br />
In farming, we live in hope.<br />
<br />
Prayers have become pertinent,<br />
<br />
And we are not far removed from the inconceivable divine. <br />
<br />Joseph Porter Wellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04079209481152566040noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6392328833819847646.post-71596984846143331222016-05-16T23:59:00.002-07:002016-05-16T23:59:54.560-07:00I won't tell you where I have been, <br />
I will tell you that I was in Western Montana, <br />
when really it was Northern Idaho. <br />
I will tell you that I was in South West Idaho, <br />
When really it was the Southern, <br />
Eastern part of Oregon. <br />
People have a tendency of destroying what they love. <br />
I will not tell you where I have been...<br />
Only of the places that I have loved. Joseph Porter Wellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04079209481152566040noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6392328833819847646.post-21258772941126653372016-03-31T00:58:00.001-07:002016-03-31T00:58:29.364-07:00
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Winter now over, fear now subsides. What is done is done.
Lambs, some of them, nearly sixty pounds, suckle and “gain,” Some of them even
a pound a day. Waterlogged fields and fear of frost, in a matter of days
becomes a distant memory. There were
more “singles” born this year than I would have liked, but singles gain well
and fatten quickly. Scarce feed last year in September, manifests it’s self in
this year’s lambs, only a %170 lamb crop. It is what it is; I’ll have lambs
early to market, and spend less in getting them there. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">There is something to be said for that. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> Driving past
vineyards and cyclists today I railed against a machine that I have no ability
to fight against, and I passed my frustration on you. I am sorry that my own
short comings, frustration, and anger, will become your frustration with me;
were you were to become my wife. It is an idea that terrifies me if I was
honest with myself, and horrifies me were I to be honest with you.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> Driving to that
farm today, the one for sale on the internet, again were I to be honest, broke
my heart. That farm (to my eye) is a place full of a life lived. In my mind, in
the way that the house, garden, and barn yard were laid out, was a place where
I could see a man walk from the mud room to the shed, harness horses or idle a
tractor, and while they ate, or a diesel tractor warmed up, that man would walk
down to the cow byre and throw flakes of hay to cattle, and there he would
stand, for just a moment before turning toward his work, and think on all of
the things that he had done well in the year past, and consider the things that
he wished that he might have done better. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> My dear, </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> I am a
man who already knows what I have done well, and I am a man who at times,
wishes I could have done better. I
lament my failures, and (in regard to my farm) am sustained by the things that
I have done right. I mean to offer no offence; but I consider my love for you
in very much the same way. I know what I
have done well, and at times know that I could have done better. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> I once said that
renting a farm was like dating a woman, and that owning a farm (by contract)
was in a way like being married to a woman. What little I know about either, I
know in my heart that someday I would like to own a farm…. And that soon, I
would like to be married to you- </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> With all of my
love-</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">
Me-</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<br /></div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>Joseph Porter Wellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04079209481152566040noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6392328833819847646.post-77483918397814999822015-03-10T01:31:00.004-07:002015-03-10T01:31:45.984-07:00The greatest sadness... The greatest joy.I've four of the greatest dogs I've ever owned at the moment. <br />
<br />
Gwenn: <br />
six years old, <br />
finicky, <br />
loose eyed,<br />
Wide running,<br />
impatient,<br />
sensitive and tough. <br />
<br />
Jett: <br />
Five years old,<br />
Prick eared and always reliable. <br />
hard fast,<br />
maybe a bit sticky eyed,<br />
knows her lines,<br />
patient.<br />
She'd gather sheep through an artillery range,<br />
No bother,<br />
Sharps the word and quick's the action.<br />
<br />
<br />
Murphy:<br />
three years old,<br />
head strong and brilliant. <br />
<br />
O'deilla:<br />
Three years old,<br />
sensitive,<br />
intuitive, <br />
heads up...<br />
and blind. <br />
The vet described the cause of her blindness as a massive bacterial infection,<br />
That caused her ocular nerves to swell,<br />
and to her guessing, <br />
made her blind within a few hours.<br />
<br />
It's funny....<br />
My dog, <br />
named after the patron saint of ocular diseases....<br />
Is now forever blind. <br />
She is my greatest sorrow...<br />
and still my greatest joy. <br />
<br />
Joseph Porter Wellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04079209481152566040noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6392328833819847646.post-2183955930774341132015-02-26T03:13:00.000-08:002015-02-26T14:29:42.051-08:00Starbucks 25/2/15I am looking for clarity amongst madness-<br />
My birthday three days ago <br />
and Mother's today. <br />
We celibate our births<br />
While lamenting the loss of the breasts <br />
that gave me life.<br />
<br />
What did I dream of 34 years ago as I nursed?<br />
My hand absent mindedly grasping at my mother's hair<br />
Her blouse<br />
Her finger?<br />
<br />
Did I dream at all<br />
Or was I merely content?<br />
<br />
Recently- <br />
<br />
I have fallen in love with Dorothy Day<br />
And I hope that she is never canonized.<br />
I want her to be my saint. <br />
I do not want to share her.<br />
I want her all to myself in a cabin on the coast-<br />
<br />
There<br />
<br />
Our child would sleep contentedly between <br />
us as the water boils.<br />
We would make love on the bed<br />
<br />
She and I-<br />
<br />
Later I would pour her bath<br />
Near to the wood stove.<br />
<br />
She would smile at me in the dim light from the wash basin<br />
<br />
I holing our child, <br />
<br />
She content,<br />
<br />
and me her good man. Joseph Porter Wellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04079209481152566040noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6392328833819847646.post-35017827366542986602015-01-11T23:03:00.002-08:002015-01-11T23:03:19.325-08:00Sunday Night Obituarys Five dollars for the collection plate<br />
And five twenty five for a beer-<br />
Eight for a pack of smokes<br />
and whiskey to banish misfortune<br />
<br />
Never mind the cost. Joseph Porter Wellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04079209481152566040noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6392328833819847646.post-12876599236828107492014-02-07T00:11:00.001-08:002014-02-09T09:28:12.057-08:00Weather ReportSnow falls and the winter woods are quiet.<br />
Song birds flit from branch to barren branch.<br />
Their chirps and alarms break the pregnant silence.<br />
<br />
.Chickadee, junco, nuthatch, and house wren.<br />
<br />
Harrier.<br />
<br />
Wind from the NNW 10-15mph<br />
Eighteen degrees<br />
<br />
Fog develops late in the afternoon <br />
while herons stalk the parcel brown marshes.<br />
<br />
The streambed <br />
like coffee grounds <br />
Lays black, against the buckskin bank.<br />
<br />
Snow falls on the quiet winter woods.<br />
Chance of precipitation 80%Joseph Porter Wellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04079209481152566040noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6392328833819847646.post-84609223060498698902014-02-01T00:49:00.000-08:002014-02-07T00:19:58.625-08:00The winter woodsJanuary's nearly at a close,<br />
Hopefully by now,<br />
King Wencerslas's man has gathered enough wood to see him through.<br />
With any luck we'll all see the spring come.<br />
<br />
Soon lambs to be born,<br />
Buds to burst,<br />
and the grass to grow.<br />
<br />
This time of year<br />
Farmers sit idle.<br />
"We've nothing wrong with us"<br />
We tell each other over pints.<br />
We're just bored.<br />
Soon spring will come.<br />
Soon we'll have our work to do.<br />
But for now<br />
We wait.<br />
<br />
Now<br />
The woods sit idle...<br />
The fields lay fallow,<br />
And rust gathers on the moldboards of our ploughs.<br />
<br />
It's no wonder that Christ comes in the middle of winter.<br />
Had he come in July<br />
We would all have been too busy cutting hay to notice.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Joseph Porter Wellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04079209481152566040noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6392328833819847646.post-25886492875361179442014-01-09T22:53:00.000-08:002014-01-10T07:46:06.209-08:00OnceOnce<br />
I had nothing but you in my eyes.<br />
It was then that you filled my eyes.<br />
And I would sit at the edge of the field like a fox.<br />
and amazed I would watch<br />
As bees wicked the spring's nectar from the flowers.<br />
<br />
It was then that I would sit amazed.<br />
Amidst more than I could have created alone,<br />
There amidst that witch we had created together<br />
And there amazed<br />
I would give thanks.<br />
<br />
Now in winter with the bees I remain.<br />
You and I together<br />
Have ravaged all of the summer's stores.<br />
Now alone I return home<br />
The fox<br />
to a wreath of moldered bones<br />
and an empty larder.<br />
<br />Joseph Porter Wellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04079209481152566040noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6392328833819847646.post-16267167201233796062013-11-07T01:39:00.002-08:002013-11-07T01:56:10.754-08:00 Hearth and home,<br />
An honest remedy against the cold and damp.<br />
The house looks like a Thomas Kinkade painting tonight.<br />
Fog and drizzle settle about our abode like an old jacket,<br />
And wood smoke hangs in the branches of the trees like incense,<br />
But without rising...<br />
Everything is enveloped within the spectrum of light.<br />
Tonight,<br />
God is not far from us.<br />
No prayers rise in wisps to a celestial kingdom amongst the stars,<br />
For there are no stars,<br />
Only rain and mist, fog, and woodsmoke.<br />
Christ has transcended the stars,<br />
Put on an old traveler's coat,<br />
And at our fire he sits.<br />
Our prayers need go no further than the breath from our mouth,<br />
No further than our hands can reach,<br />
No further than the light of the fire extends.<br />
Christ comes the traveler and is with us.<br />
He is the comfort given,<br />
And the comfort giving.<br />
Transcending the stars Christ broke mortal bread<br />
And from a perfect cup, he shared the wine.<br />
Now,<br />
With grubby hands, we break the immortal bread<br />
And from a broken cup we share the immortal wine<br />
And our prayers<br />
need go no further than the breath from our mouth-<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Joseph Porter Wellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04079209481152566040noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6392328833819847646.post-19343921401060594172013-10-15T21:47:00.000-07:002013-10-15T21:47:01.214-07:00The belligerent ewe-<br />
<br />
"Get up" I say to the belligerent ewe.<br />
She's a new one to me,<br />
One that I've purchased along with sixty others.<br />
"Get up" I say,<br />
"Your feet can't be that sore!"<br />
She's one of three limpers that have come with the bunch I've just acquired.<br />
"Get up ya dosy bitch!!!"<br />
My temper rises now,<br />
I have things to get done, and my dogs are confused by her unwillingness to move.<br />
I am as frustrated by their frustration as I am of my own.<br />
"Stand up ya fucking cunt!!!!"<br />
I'm beyond compassion now,<br />
beyond reason.<br />
The dogs are nervous,<br />
An unwilling ewe is one thing;<br />
Enough to cause them pause,<br />
An angry "master" is a thing enough to cause them doubt.<br />
Here in this moment<br />
Now!<br />
Here is the place that I have come to fear,<br />
Here is the fury, that I hope to out grow.<br />
Now! Not later!!!<br />
Let anger subside.<br />
Look too your dogs,<br />
Their fear<br />
Their trust<br />
Become now,<br />
Not later,<br />
Now!<br />
Become worthy of their faith, and their trust.<br />
Look!<br />
Now!<br />
Not later, in regret!!!<br />
NOW!!!<br />
Look now and see an old ewe,<br />
her feet sore.<br />
Yes she'd rather burry her head in a hedge<br />
and die there rather than be pushed about!<br />
But have compassion!!!<br />
Her unwillingness defines her.<br />
She is unpleasant,<br />
yes.<br />
But would ever I wish to be cruel?<br />
Who does it serve,<br />
my cruelty?<br />
None.<br />
Only my pride.<br />
Now!!! Now!! Now!<br />
Breath,<br />
Step back,<br />
Smile....<br />
look with compassion on those whom you not only depend on,<br />
but love.<br />
Let your compassion define you...<br />
For your creatures can only be what they are...<br />
love them for their limitations,<br />
thank them,<br />
envy them,<br />
Because they are defined by their nature,<br />
And your are defined by your compassion,<br />
and your ability to conform to their nature...<br />
a nature<br />
that you did not create,<br />
but one that you must enter into...<br />
a structure that you do not define,<br />
but instead defines you......<br />
Make this your living....<br />
Make this your livelihood,<br />
that in molding your self to this nature,<br />
you find your self anew....<br />
Beg forgiveness....<br />
Grow....<br />
Invent yourself daily,<br />
in this way find yourself.<br />
in this way, your anger will subside,<br />
your frustration diminish.<br />
In this way you become what you have not been before.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Joseph Porter Wellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04079209481152566040noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6392328833819847646.post-43122674417212691652013-09-26T23:14:00.000-07:002013-09-26T23:18:16.544-07:00First Fire-Autumn's chill seeps through the eves of summer.<br />
Blood thickens as frost settles, and the chorus of good king Wenceslas,<br />
From across fall turned fields,<br />
Sounds dim in our ears.<br />
Summer's bounty now laid in wood rick, haystack, and larder,<br />
sit idle,<br />
banked against the winter's cold-<br />
later to be placed on Christmas tables, laid in mangers, and the woodstove-<br />
Tonight at the door Jack Frost has only left his calling card,<br />
if you are wise you know that he will return.<br />
Greg Brown's album "Dream Cafe" becomes pertinent again with the turning of the leaves, With Christmas, the heralds proclaim the birth of christ, the return of the tomtin, the rail king, and his accomplice the scarecrow.<br />
Tonight-<br />
Summer nearly at it's end<br />
The first fire of the season burns as a testament,<br />
It's warmth a manifestation of a covenant,<br />
a labor and a joy.<br />
It says to us-<br />
That love will sustain us another season,<br />
And that for us-<br />
Love will endure-<br />
Joseph Porter Wellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04079209481152566040noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6392328833819847646.post-45055805862944647592013-08-09T23:54:00.002-07:002013-08-10T01:14:27.615-07:00Cigarette smoke lifts and coils from my right hand, twisting and spiraling in the porch light, I am slightly taken aback by the immensity of it. It's hard to imagine that the whole of it could be condensed into my lungs. Initially I began smoking to emulate my father. I don't begrudge him his smoking, and I have never smoked to excess. One of the earliest memories of my father is of the smell of his woolen sweaters, and the smell of pipe smoke mixed there within; the smell of freshly plained violin tops, and varnish. The memory of his thin hands are as indelibly marked in my mind as were the fingers on his right hand by the tobacco that he smoked.<br />
But I am grown now, and at times I am surprised maybe by my childishness. When I was young I would pinch loose tobacco leaf from the butler's pantry, from canisters of my father's Drum; and I would pinch it into primitive loosely rolled smokes that I would share with my friends. We never thought to emulate movie stars or the Marlboro man... We only though to emulate the men that we hoped someday to become. These men were far more tangible than the images on billboards; they were our fathers, grandfathers, our uncles, and brothers. They were the men in who's sweaters we had buried our heads, and in who's hands we had found comfort and escape form the limitations of childhood.<br />
Our mortality to us then was beyond the scope of our imagination. We charged the ramparts of fortified imaginary castles slaying enemies to our left and to our right; our own death as distant too us then as was compassion for the imaginary slain who littered the ground at our feet. We were poster boys for why young men can be convinced to go to war. In our minds we held our ground and defended each other at the Battle Of The Bulge, and in our ration packs would be a pack of lucky strikes.....Joseph Porter Wellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04079209481152566040noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6392328833819847646.post-52171289922716202882013-06-26T23:46:00.000-07:002013-08-10T00:40:13.839-07:00Fallow,<br />
now the furrow<br />
the coulter cut's through the ready ground.<br />
Spring time's turnings<br />
headlands turned<br />
once flailed<br />
now moldbord turned,<br />
The plough cut's through the ready ground.<br />
Hope springs eternal...<br />
Each spring in the ploughing...<br />
Despair is turned under...<br />
and hope is ever renewed.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Joseph Porter Wellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04079209481152566040noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6392328833819847646.post-13866918693809479732012-10-26T05:54:00.003-07:002012-10-26T05:54:53.794-07:00December 2012I am fighting the urge to sleep. Days pass as they are apt to do, and little do I notice. I am finding it hard to write, words escape me, remaining elusive in the clutter of days. Three women talked in the living room (as dad slept) of babies, life, loss, and miscarries. <br />
I wish I to had been asleep as well. <br />
I sat ten feet and a wall away, involved in a conversation I was not part of... And yet knew all to well. Even now I don't know what to make of it all.... I would have gone out, left the house and gone to the field... But for fear of creating a void in my wake, letting a cold draft in as I went out the door. Now my father is awake, Brigid and mom carry the conversation, dad's voice is nearly gone these last days, as if he is speaking from another room far away. I can only imagine.<br />
It is a distance between there.... <br />
(the place where he has gone)<br />
And here.... <br />
(the place where we remain)<br />
That hardly can I fathom..... <br />
Soon he will pass beyond out sight. Joseph Porter Wellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04079209481152566040noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6392328833819847646.post-65743802830457040442012-06-03T15:57:00.000-07:002012-08-16T16:18:05.055-07:00Maybe........<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
The rain falls in ribbons</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Rhythmic, consistent, chaotic.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
To stand in it,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
To stand in it, </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
in your naked skin-</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Is ecstasy.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Each drop</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> Like love</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sharp and unrelenting,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
How long?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
How long could you endure a lover’s touch</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Before you turn in your sleep toward her?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
How long could you endure the presence of god?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Before you were driven mad?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And in your sleep</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Touched so…</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Which way would you turn? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The rain like a child’s cry in the night,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You curse the hour</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As the rain, like ribbons</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Seeps down across the broad if your back,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And pulls you from your sleep. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Love, </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
for a time,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
like the rain,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
avoids the small of your spine.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And in the beginning</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Those places the rain does not touch-</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You think of as your own.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But love, </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Like the rain,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Creeps,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Like ribbons,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Across your whole being.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And now that place in your being…</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
No longer belonging to you</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But to her…</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Belonging to a needy child lonely in the night.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Rise now,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Turning to her your accomplice,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Turning toward him your masterpiece-</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
With all of your frustration,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
With all of your fear, </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Rise</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
To stand naked in the rain-</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span>Endure
love as long as you are-<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Joseph Porter Wellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04079209481152566040noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6392328833819847646.post-79057968807945259722012-06-03T15:55:00.001-07:002012-06-03T15:55:03.480-07:00Not sure about this one-<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
She-</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A rosary of berries.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Her fingers</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Juice stained and sweet.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I converse with her at the spring.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I drink rain water</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Pooled</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
From the nape of her neck.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
December </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Bees wick nectar from her skin,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
They anoint her lips with honey-</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Shelter me from the winter,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And I will build you a house,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
With seven Chimneys,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And a fire in every room.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Warm me, when I am cold</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And I will cloth you in the winter.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
For your feet</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Seal skins. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
For your middle </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Tanned hide of dear.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
For your shoulders</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The fur of bears.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Woman of the hen house</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Woman of the hearth fire</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Flock and fold</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Dear one </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Dear one</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Dear on of my heart.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Bare for me my child</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And in return </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As life springs forth from you</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In spring, I will coax life from the ground</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And in thanks and in supplication-</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I will bear home those fruits to you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>Joseph Porter Wellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04079209481152566040noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6392328833819847646.post-65548013722109960372012-06-03T15:51:00.001-07:002012-06-03T15:51:26.404-07:00Turn us loose-<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7_0CLq5ANYMCY0o5saV1WOEt637zFPXUsyRSw0cO9VfBuDqXnGozNIpega9axTCF6j6Go4p4Hoi6wQvz36uVbougB1SdRSwvtmxM6FOgSLjAV1aC36F4F2q9M6tABHFFiHmQ3t8vrS6FN/s1600/stuff+008.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7_0CLq5ANYMCY0o5saV1WOEt637zFPXUsyRSw0cO9VfBuDqXnGozNIpega9axTCF6j6Go4p4Hoi6wQvz36uVbougB1SdRSwvtmxM6FOgSLjAV1aC36F4F2q9M6tABHFFiHmQ3t8vrS6FN/s640/stuff+008.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<br />
<br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
My mind</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Like a button drawer.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
There</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Where things are compiled</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
You will find me-</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
There amongst the string, and garden clippers,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
The keys, broken Swiss army knives,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
There amongst the tape measures and tacks,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
There amongst the needles and thread,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
The barbed hooks,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
I am.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
My mind is the canyons of my youth…</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Where we rode the norths,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Like a school yard.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Our colts brash and impatient</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Their breath billowed like incense in the autumn air.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Like prayers-</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“turn us loose” they said</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
And we like them were wild.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“Turn us loose” they said</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Turn us loose to slide</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Haunches slide</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Theirs and mine</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Down through the breaks,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
As quarters and lose change </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Shale and skree </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Slide before us</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“Turn us loose” we said</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
I like them</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
And them like me-</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Were wild.<span><span style="background-color: #6fa8dc;"></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpSYDRcXDVGcITeAXvWh8SPHPulzDPWQ1bvR5i0UyOPYWCjRIy_az0kZ4tL_hAJ8KLLUIFR3x5f8NaKdAQY-qyndrASRY-f5QcHBUxf8yw8Df-ctN0P3c5ABTjPPZsM-XZkcTaQ5Zxj5Eg/s1600/stuff+061.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpSYDRcXDVGcITeAXvWh8SPHPulzDPWQ1bvR5i0UyOPYWCjRIy_az0kZ4tL_hAJ8KLLUIFR3x5f8NaKdAQY-qyndrASRY-f5QcHBUxf8yw8Df-ctN0P3c5ABTjPPZsM-XZkcTaQ5Zxj5Eg/s400/stuff+061.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>Joseph Porter Wellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04079209481152566040noreply@blogger.com0Imnaha, OR 97842, USA45.558689 -116.82710345.547571 -116.84684399999999 45.569807000000004 -116.807362tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6392328833819847646.post-48161200158580867802012-05-15T00:35:00.000-07:002012-05-15T00:35:55.981-07:00For my mother-Looking for my father tonight.<br />
Now,<br />
Now the page is blank.<br />
Are you there?<br />
Love,<br />
You who will come after, <br />
You whom are to come?<br />
<br />
My father is gone.<br />
My children, before me are gone.<br />
Are you there,<br />
You who is to come?<br />
Still before me.<br />
<br />
In that place left empty,<br />
by those gone before me?<br />
In that place left filled <br />
by those who came before me?<br />
<br />
Are you willing,<br />
To take on what was not yours<br />
To begine with;<br />
And will be yours now?<br />
The wight of it is not insignifigent.<br />
It will be a burden to you,<br />
And it is something of you<br />
I can not ask.<br />
<br />
Though,<br />
If you are willing to go into that place,<br />
I would hope that you might find joy.<br />
<br />
That you would find comfort,<br />
and be spared the sorrow that I have known.<br />
And in comming into that place<br />
be spared the sorrow<br />
That I might have inflicted;<br />
And that you might find your self there,<br />
In the sorrow yet to come....<br />
<br />Joseph Porter Wellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04079209481152566040noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6392328833819847646.post-17881337334822998272012-02-19T00:28:00.000-08:002012-02-19T00:49:43.164-08:00Willamette<br />
Valley<br />
Early summer 2009<br />
<br />
<br />
Watching the sun come up this morning I’m thinking of Iran,<br />
for better or worse, tearing it’s self apart, traffic on the highway, concerned<br />
only with it’s self, and what to make for breakfast. A load of “whites” churns<br />
in the washing machine until replaced by a load of “darks” and then hung on the line. <br />
Sleep rarely comes quickly anymore, even more rare is sleep uninterrupted from night until morning. Thoughts of cancer, love lost, children lost before birth, shortcomings, and failures plague my dreams. It is not surprising then, that standing in my garden early this morning, I am consumed by a sense of grief. I lament the weeds, plants not thriving for what ever reason, beds not finished to my satisfaction, projects around the house and shop unaccomplished. It is more than I would ever hope to bear.<br />
And yet love is tangible. It is a fallacy to think that it is not, and I would call anyone a liar who told me it was not so. We dwell in a world where love not only is an idea, or a concept, or a myth. It is attainable; Attainable in the midst of sorrow, loss, frustration, anger, grief, and cancer.<br />
I went to get the paper this morning, and for the first time in years, it was not there. Canceled, for lack of 34.00 a month, a cancer cutback if you will. Anyone who tells you that sacrifice, suffering, pain, and failure are not inherent in love; I would call a liar. And yet here I sit… And I am blessed. I still have Sundays paper which I was unable to read on Sunday. I have raspberries in my garden, enough not only for my self, but for<br />
my family. I pick enough for three breakfasts, and return to the house.<br />
In the kitchen, water boils slowly in the kettle for coffee. I make an egg, toast, and yogurt…. With raspberries. The sound of a knife over toast is some how comforting, the solid sound of my favorite coffee mug, and breakfast plate on the table is satisfying. The rustling of the paper, pages turning, brings humor…. I am blessed.<br />
And now here I sit, my day elegized already, as the sounds of my family waking and shuffling from bed to bath, stairway to kitchen come to me through the walls. I am blessed. <br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe4pmFcYgcW6KksdkrSHu9Awa6smsDec_6yzXtXyCnKZvhINxcjQQeXAzC1a6lsPCvfsQ_-49XQXBkS0-4qCo1uIWEjRowfepHaQKVMjWzG6_awvuG06OJQL_hN8HSZlpLa7bClCeHMWdv/s1600/IMG_0287.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe4pmFcYgcW6KksdkrSHu9Awa6smsDec_6yzXtXyCnKZvhINxcjQQeXAzC1a6lsPCvfsQ_-49XQXBkS0-4qCo1uIWEjRowfepHaQKVMjWzG6_awvuG06OJQL_hN8HSZlpLa7bClCeHMWdv/s320/IMG_0287.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<br />
Willamette Valley Early Summer 2009Joseph Porter Wellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04079209481152566040noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6392328833819847646.post-79763345597786998572012-02-11T23:27:00.000-08:002012-02-11T23:27:11.641-08:00TelocheThey will take Teloche's horse from him.<br />
Soon he will be rooted in the earth<br />
And he will forget his horseback ways.<br />
<br />
At dawn Teloche is the captian of the wind,<br />
He is a horseman at first light.<br />
<br />
Teloche's horse devoures the earth,<br />
In stride he takes all comers.<br />
<br />
Hedge rows are of no consiquence<br />
and his breath is sweet.<br />
<br />
His flanks not pistons.<br />
pistons, were but concieved by lesser men;<br />
Men who would controle him by force,<br />
Who would harness him to plough<br />
Only<br />
Until they had invented his replacement.<br />
<br />
When they take his horse from him,<br />
Teloche will wander from his mind.<br />
As the horse sweat drys to salt on his flanks<br />
He will forget that all horses were his brothers.<br />
And As he forgets,<br />
Their shared blood will boil over<br />
into a fevor and drive him mad.<br />
<br />
And in his madness<br />
with out his herd,<br />
with out his tribe,<br />
No longer him self,<br />
Consumed by his terror, <br />
he will drink cold, clear water <br />
And it will settle like iron in his bowels....<br />
So that his bones will fall away from him.<br />
<br />
He will stagger to a secluded place<br />
and there lay down to die.<br />
He will open the earth with his thrashing;<br />
he will cut his limbs,<br />
and dash his head upon the stones.<br />
<br />
The cold of the earth will reach up to him,<br />
and his last offering of warmth and blood <br />
will go down into the earth before him.<br />
<br />
With his last breath<br />
Teloche will settle into the contours of the ground that holds him.<br />
And abandon him self back to it-<br />
The earth that he once consumed.Joseph Porter Wellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04079209481152566040noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6392328833819847646.post-50007521766309018592012-02-05T22:08:00.000-08:002012-02-05T22:08:19.130-08:00Something I found....Some things catch one's eye...<br />
like glass. <br />
strewn across a darkened alley;<br />
That later you find<br />
Crushed into your boot heel.<br />
The trick is in not thinking them diamonds,<br />
That you then find crushed in your knees.Joseph Porter Wellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04079209481152566040noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6392328833819847646.post-84487947346988292982012-02-05T21:52:00.000-08:002012-02-05T21:53:37.247-08:00(No title) two things I found in an old notebook-I.<br />
<br />
Rain of a summers day.<br />
The doors of the bar are thrown open to the street<br />
It's tempting to step out of the weather,<br />
to seek asylum amongst old men.<br />
But my father is dead,<br />
And Stephen has quit drinking. <br />
<br />
II.<br />
Now all the old men are young again, <br />
And their wives too are young.<br />
The young men rest their freshly shaven faces <br />
On the shoulders of their young wives,<br />
And bight them gently on the neck<br />
and from their washing of dishes <br />
they lift them off their feet,<br />
And across the kitchen<br />
And through the doors <br />
thrown open to the street.Joseph Porter Wellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04079209481152566040noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6392328833819847646.post-39640069993236738212012-02-05T21:30:00.000-08:002012-02-05T21:30:32.239-08:00HawaiiTunes drift from an accordion across paridise<br />
Under the waves wales sing to their calves, if slightly off key.<br />
All the while bikini clad women laugh,<br />
as they pass the old Buddhist graveyard.Joseph Porter Wellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04079209481152566040noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6392328833819847646.post-79339712901051398392012-01-15T22:36:00.000-08:002012-01-15T22:36:16.996-08:00<div class="content noh" id="id.221497751219174">I speak my children's names.....<br />
As to hold them close to me...<br />
the cap on my head,<br />
I wear in remembrance of them <br />
in remembrance of you.<br />
my hands through my hair<br />
and my hands upon my face<br />
in remembrance of you...<br />
in remembrance of them......<br />
Them, whom I have loved.....<br />
and her who is gone.<br />
The three never reconciled....<br />
Nor those who came before me,<br />
Never reconciled. <br />
My hands upon your hips,<br />
never reconciled...<br />
You<br />
A city surrendered at my feet,<br />
surrendered at my hands.....<br />
given freely.<br />
freely given.<br />
Never reconciled..... </div><li class="MessagingMessage uiListItem uiListLight uiListVerticalItemBorder"><div class="clearfix main"><div class="messageCheck lfloat"><input type="checkbox" value="id.252132648133695" /></div></div></li>Joseph Porter Wellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04079209481152566040noreply@blogger.com1