Stephen Sutherlin is a designer, poet and musician. He writes poetry about life in the southwest and enjoys metrical lyricism.
So few times
To Carry me
Through these days
Lately
So little written down
As I toss
These thoughts
Around
As if they
Are forbidden
To see the light
Of day.
Gone fishing,
Off camping
Must work
Or some other
Excuse
To refuse
To record
This poet’s dream.
Write, Write
Everyday
Even if
You have nothing
To say
Make it habit
More than a goal
If you don’t
Just do it
You’re leaving
A Hole
In your notebook
Where thoughts
Should assemble
And emptiness
Is what’s left
To ressemble
That you had nothing
To say
And no one cares
Anyways
So write, write
Every day
Before you’re dead
And left
Something unsaid.
One last hoorah
Before The Spirit of Summer
Succumbs to the seriousness
Of Education and Work
That signals the American
Tradition of Fall
That seems to come earlier
And earlier each year
As administrative minds
Decide for the masses
That the excess of
Time and energy is the
Corruption of Mind and Learning —
So into the woods we’ve run
With cedar and river
And Freedom and Fun
To learn the bird’s songs
One last time and throw
Our poles to lure one last
Meal from the waters
The lessons of the wild
Provide the mild mind
With relaxation and realization
That a simpler life may be
Required to grasp the enlightenment
That a generation sought there
Generations back as they fought
To find what lacked in their daily life.
It’s the last day
Of our family outing
Alone I sit with
Dog and pen
To re-collect this
time spent passing
With my loved ones
Out in the open
Breathing the air
Of the American West
Full of trees
And smoke and dust
Hot air, cool air
Dry air, wet air
We’ve made so many stops
I can no longer compare.
I’m bone-tired from
100 Miles walked
So many things we’ve seen
So many times we’ve talked
All such inspiring scenes
No aspirations mocked
To find this life serene
On happiness we’ve stocked
The bare cupboards
Of our souls
And fill our empty holes
With moments where we lived
So that we’d have more to give
Each other and our world
Full of memories we clutch like pearls.
The Land of Edward Abbey
The Land of Desert Solitaire
The Land that inspired
An entire conservation movement.
The Land of the Black Widow
The Coyote and the Rattlesnake
Where Mountain Lions used to roam before they were banished from their home by the development from which The Park was developed to protect.
The Land of Red Sand and Slick Rock where if you walk long enough
You will be rewarded with Vistas that thwart adjectives of all sorts to describe this incommunicable beauty.
This Land where stones fall away to make the objects of your day’s
Pursuit across this waterless garden.
The Land that draws so many
Out of their homes; out of their cities
To reunite their families and populate their Snapchat feeds.
This Land that calls the human spirit to bear this Heat and push their limits to be inspired by This Land
And renew this desire for protection
So that generation after generation
May review and renew This Land until the rains make something new of This Land!
Powdery white
Stunningly strong
Shapely and thin
Porcelain
My love, she is like a porcelain bowl
Always full of something delicious
To be shared with brilliant conversation and joyous laughter!
Beautiful on the outside
Intricate on the inside
Brimming with nurturing warmth
And sustaining compassion
Here for me when I am sick
Sharing with me to end my hungering
Sits next to me quietly and contemplative
My love is like porcelain
Enduring
Useful
Gorgeous
One of a kind
Something I want near to me
For the rest of my life!
Two Rainbows crested
O’er the emerald hills beyond
A pot of gold it rested
A short time behind the pond
And as we then persisted
To get to the other side
All the colors they resisted
Faded to oblivion
For if it’s gold you’re after
Take a moment to reflect
The treasure’s in the Rainbow
And your fortune you neglect
By not breathing in this moment
Being present as you inspect
The myth that drives your desire
Yes, your narrative will unravel
As you chase on to acquire
This prize out on the gravel
If you stand to be inspired
By the distance that you travel
The Blackbirds chase the Raven
Three or four at a time
They push him away
From their demesne.
Keep their eggs safe and sound
“Chuck, chuck, chip, chip”
These Blackbirds sing
“That charred crow is back
For our nest he is looking
Away, Away, Away” we follow him
up into the sky
“Go back, Go back
From Where you came
And stay away, stay away from my
Brood in the bushes
No breakfast for your kind
Belie your wishes
Away, Away!
Away sly raven
To some other nest
you fly with abandon!”
So many situations culminating for me
Fatherhood • Summer Solstice • Sobriety
First, there’s my children who make me proud
They are smart and alive and a little too loud
Then comes the summer with heat and abundance
And all of our pleasures made possible by
Eliminating our dependence on the alcoholic life
No, my life is not perfect, as if one could be
But my love and I have chosen to live more fully
Aware of our existence, our impact herein
Our footprints, our breathing, the path our children
Will follow by example as they seek happiness
Won’t be found in a bottle or the bottom of a glass
We toast this day with coffee, soda and Iced tea
We laugh and play in earnest not because of the drink
I have no tale to tell you how I reached the bottom
We realized before too late that we had a problem
I am not an alcoholic for I no longer drink
There’s time to change direction at least that’s what I think!
Grackles and Crows
Cackle and call
Filling the morning with their chatter
Does it matter that I’m here?
Not to them, they do not care
About the comings and going of this
Self-absorbed
Man
They don’t plan
Except for their next
meal
Or where to nest
for their love
appeal
And when the crows
Do interfere
These Grackles
Chase them out of here
Then go back to minding
Not a thing
About me
Who listens most intently
To the songs
And calls
Of all things
Small
From the prairie dogs bark
To the red-winged black bird
And the horned lark