Do Not Think Me a Pundit

 

 

 

 

Bob Komives :: Fort Collins © 2024 :: Do Not Think Me A Pundit :: 2401

Aspen

 

Aspen

Bob Komives

 

 

 

Fort Collins © 2021 :: Aspen  :: 2107

.LET THIS BE THE RAIN.

.
.




.LET THIS BE THE RAIN.
.
.NOW HERE.
.
.FOR US OF THIRST.
.
.THE REFRESHMENT COME.
.
.HERE NOW.
.
.IN FERTILE GROUND.

.LET THIS BE THE RAIN. 

Bob Komives

Fort Collins © 2020 :: .LET THIS BE THE RAIN. :: 2007

Is This a True Spring?

A little drizzle, some sun;
a little rain, a rainbow, some thunder;
the fertile aroma of green.
Here, where plains meet the Front Range,
is this a true spring that comes to replace
our annual war between winter and summer?
Should I refuse to enjoy the gift?
It may be Global Warming trying to buy my vote.
Or, perhaps I should not look to find conspiracy.
Indeed, this may be but a random gift of nature
given here only once or twice in a lifetime.
As I take another deep breath,
I live to believe the latter.

Is This a True Spring?

Bob Komives

Fort Collins © 2020 :: Is This a True Spring? :: 2004

Humid Morning on Arid Land

Is this that now hovers

the awaited rain
that will soon descend
to draw our thirst
before refreshment comes to ground?

Or is this no more than past rain that rises
and lingers a while to taunt our thirst
before our fertility departs? 

Humid Morning on Arid Land

Bob Komives

Fort Collins © 2020 :: Humid Morning On Arid Land :: ,8004

Begat

Energy begat matter.
Matter begat life.
Life begat knowledge.
Knowledge begat culture.
Then culture begat.

Begat

Bob Komives

Fort Collins © 2020 :: Begat :: ,8001

Moment of Exception

'tis useless to feel useless,
not helpful to feel helpless,
ever more weakening to feel powerless,
spineless to cast blame.
Yet is it not healthful to allow this moment of exception?
I listen in isolation as people I do not know die
isolated from those who do know and love them.
I read of others (too-distant to be neighbors) 
now torn apart then cast together by a tornado.
I watch a tragic movie, 'Planet of the Humans'
feeling useless, helpless, 
powerless--except to cast blame.

Moment of Exception

Bob Komives 

::  Fort Collins © 2020  ::  Moment of Exception  ::  2003  ::

When I Need a Visitor

When I need a visitor:

     By day,

     by season,

     with no qualm

     no hesitation,

     with license from all authority,

sun comes into my home

to play a play that gives me joy.

      

When I Need a Visitor

Bob Komives

Fort Collins © 2020  :: When I Need a Visitor  ::  2001

Sedimentary Factory

stumbled to note
ancient maketh new

sedimentary factory
makes stackable stone

Sedimentary Factory

 

Bob Komives

Fort Collins © 2019  :: Sedimentary Factory  ::  1901

Sunrise Again in Standard Time

It uplifts the spirit
to walk ourselves back a tiny step toward our planet's nature
to see bright sun 
at what only yesterday
was a dark hour.

Our ancestors
(likely even their ancestors)
knew the meaning of sunrise,
of sunset,
and of the high noon between.

Then,
they begat civilization
which begat commerce and industry
which needed to divide the day and night.
Ancestors gave each a dozen hours.

Sunrise Again in Standard Time

Bob Komives

Then,
they begat machines
and the skills to make them,
which begat 
a desire to give more precision
to the 4 o'clock meet.
But,
(below and above the equator)
the best machinists had trouble
making their hours shorter
then longer
(and then shorter again)
as our planet's year progressed.

Until,
they added the two-dozens 
into twenty-four equal parts,
so the machinists could work their magic,
and the voiceless sun would have to rise
at a different hour and minute each day.
But, it worked--
brilliantly.

Then, 
further offspring,
machinists and the mechanics,
invented the steam engine and its railroads.
They made civilization roll into a leap forward
again.

Their descendants,
(our ancestors and their things)
moved so quickly along these roads
that it became a problem 
to know the exact hour here
but not there:
“When do you depart?”
“When might I expect you?”
“Can't you just write me down a schedule?”

So, their children,
our ancestors 
told us to ignore our personal, local high noon.
They settled quite comfortably into time zones.
Even breathed sighs of relief.
It was good--
for a good time.

Until, their children,
our mothers and fathers,
(at work and at play)
found it hard to give up the summer.
Crazy as it seemed,
little by little,
place by place,
they pushed summer into winter
and called it “savings time.”
And most of us say it is good--
for a time.

For, 
our ancestors,
our mothers and fathers
in adding more “unnatural”
to the already “unnatural”
gave us a sudden,
pleasant,
yearly,
surprise,
and 
(at dark times)
a hope-filled metaphor.

For,
it uplifts the spirit
to walk ourselves back a tiny step toward our planet's nature
to see bright sun 
at what only yesterday
was a dark, dark hour.

Bob Komives  ::  Fort Collins © 2018  ::  Sunrise Again in Standard Time  ::  1802


.
.

Night's Sound of Rain

Night's sound of rain
     on roof and skylight
calls back rhythm
     on tin-tile-thatch,
     on canvas-nylon-wood
     on twigs and leaves--
          old and new.

Night's sound of rain
calls upon concern 
     for those who want tomorrow dry,
brings celebration 
     with those who crave it moist,
brings new and repeat anticipations.

Night's sound of rain anticipates 
     morning's first step outside,
     impossible to remember smells
          of vitality and growth
          of burstings and birth,
          of aging, disrepair, and putrefaction,
          of renewal,
          and
          of perfumes that beauty hides when dry.

Come.
Come.
The hour has come.

Rise up to it! 
 

Night's Sound of Rain
Bob Komives

Fort Collins © 2017 :: 1710

Thanksgiving Week

Thanksgiving Week
Bob Komives

Bob Komives :: Fort Collins © 2017 ::  1709

Out My Backdoor

You'll hear me say

it takes three days

out my back door

to the middle of the wild,

And so I did,
as he cleared my way to his grinding wheel.

Out My Backdoor

Bob Komives

::

You'll find that among your new neighbors
we borrow and lend in a neighborly way.
No payment offered and none accepted,
yet, you might say,
one is always expected.
The price to borrow one thing
is to remember to ask for two.
We lend a tool freely
where we can send along our wisdom.
Your question may be short or long,
as fits the subject,
but the answer should never be so short
as to end before you turn to leave.
Thus, our advice will often run full limit—
just twice what the fetching and lending need take.
After my first winter, and half a summer,
this custom had already served me well.
Being the youngest and the newest,
I lacked tools and had need for everyday advice.

::

A few houses over,
the pruning saw hung near his head
as I walked through the workshop door.
“How long does it take
“to get into the back country from here?”
He said nothing
until he had lowered the saw and put it into my hand.

Well, if you want to hear how I figure it,

(I paused near the door to listen.)

it takes me no more than an hour and a half; 

only the canyon sits in my way.

::

Across the alley,
she walked with me to her shed
to fetch the garden fork.
“How long does it take
“to get into the back country from here?”
She may have wished I had asked about her tomatoes.
We inspected them going and halfway back.

'depends on how you see it.

But I suppose I'd say, it takes me three hours 

out my back door and into the wilderness—

to close the door, 

drive up the canyon,

put on my pack,

and trek a few miles up the trail.

She reconfirmed as I latched the gate.

Yes, I guess it's three hours that join this place, 

my chosen life,

with my mountain escape of choice.

::

I needed only to go next door
to sharpen my mower blade.
“How long does it take
“to get into the back country from here?”
He had just begun to change the spark plugs
in his pickup on the far side of the garage.

You'll hear me say it takes three days 

out my back door to the middle of the wild,

And so I did,
as he cleared my way to his grinding wheel.
With several minutes of grinding ahead of me
he could afford to confuse me in the beginning.
Of course, I hinted that among his neighbors
an hour and a half, or perhaps three hours,
were thought to be enough.

Those are honest folks,

but, you might say,

I speak in the sense of senses.

Now, my sense of smell and my sense of taste,

they could agree with those lower estimates.

One breath of mountain air 

inhaled deeply through my nose

places me right back in the wilderness.

There, any food, lightly carried,

tastes as good as I care to expect.

But, ear, eye, and touch do not fit in so quickly.

I hear beauty; 

I see it; 

I touch it—

even before I exhale that first mountain breath.

Yet those senses flit about,

not always knowing new from old,

nor together from apart.

They  keep referring back here to this life—

enjoying so much the difference 

that you might say,

they miss out on much of the difference.

Then, some moment 

(expected but briefly unexpected)

around a trail bend on my third day out,

I make it all the way back 

to the middle of the wild—

all of me,

five senses,

together in one place.

While he got lost in thought
I finished up my grinding
and put the clutter back where it had lain.
Then I sent back a nod of understanding
as I took away his final words.

Now, before you reject my estimate,

let me tell you, it is not all bad.

On that last day,

I put on my pack 

and walk down out of the back country,

leaving that back door wide open.

Then I drive on down the canyon 

knowing that for at least three more days 

parts of me will stay up there

in the middle of the wild.

::

So, welcome to our neighborhood.
That yard sure has needed care.
Ah, there's that damned long-handled spade!
I'm sorry for the delay.
'haven't used it since last fall.
You can see it is still quite sharp.
It will always be here when you need it.
And, before you leave,
since you asked my advice,
I'd say you should take that hoe of yours next door.
It could use a little sharpening
to tame those weeds in the alley.
I see him there in his garage tuning up his van.
He came back down just yesterday.
Go on over,
but take care in what you ask.
He may still lack a few of his senses.

Fort Collins (c) 1994 :: Our My Backdoor:: ,9413

Damp, Morning Walk

On this damp morning's walk,

as storefronts open beside me,

sudden sunbeams confront me
to illuminate a path before me,
and my day approaches nine o'clock.

Upward
from rain-drenched, puddled pavement,
glimmer and sparkle welcome me
while at play with new-made shadow.

Damp, Morning Walk

Bob Komives

To my deaf ears
dumb sidewalk whispers loudly
in colorful language
of tiny, wondrous rainbows
broadcast by spreading ripples
in concert 
with the drum-hiss-drum
(moistened step)

of morning walk.

Drum-hiss-drum.
Drum-hiss-drum.

Storefronts open beside me.

Warming sun is upon me.
A path reflects before me.

My day passes nine o'clock.

Bob Komives :: Fort Collins © 2016 :: Damp, Morning Walk :: 1611                               

Life is Rough; Life is Good.

From branch quite alive
this beautiful leaf falls to its death
to be reborn as nourishment
for same branch,
old tree,
new leaf. 



Life is rough
and life is good.
Land is rough,
but land is good.

Waters get rough
and harm us,
yet water is good;
it enlivens us.


Our past taught hard lessons
as it brought all that is good.

 

From branch quite alive
this beautiful leaf falls to its death
to be reborn as nourishment
for same branch,
old tree,
new leaf.






Life is Rough; Life is Good
Bob Komives




Fort Collins (c) 2016 :: Life is Rough; Life is Good. :: 1609

Floor 3 and Floor 4

Outside:
beautiful, sunny day
to navigate capricious tracks
in ice-remnant streets.

Inside:
to Floor 3 and Floor 4 
where 
long-close friends lie infirm.

Floor 3 and Floor 4
where 
friends attend friends.
One spouse ignores pains in her back.
The other, his birthday.

Floor 3 and Floor 4

Bob Komives

Smiles, 
words, 
sincerity of brevity.

Floor 3, Floor 4, Floor 1.
Outside to bicycle and more sun.
Capricious track.
Ice-remnant street.
Good fortune's way
to
comfort,
comfort,
home. 

Bob Komives :: Fort Collins © 2016 :: Floor 3 and Floor 4 :: 1601

Untitled, 4-Lines

When morning is singular

amid beauties too numerous

let me be humble

let me be proud.

Untitled, 4-Lines

Bob Komives 

Bob Komives :: Fort Collins © 2015 :: Untitled, 4-Lines  :: 1502

Shadow of Our Photographer

featured in the book Good Day with the art of Gale Whitman

How many people have come here
once in one lifetime?
          from other continents and this,
          from down the road a bit,
          during summer of 39 or Autumn of 93,
          before or after,
          to look at this mountain and that valley,
          to walk a few steps on this trail,
          to take this photograph
          that sits in how many albums
          showing familiar figures
          who stand before known stone and tundra,
          and showing unknown figures
          who take the same picture.

Shadow of Our Photographer

Bob Komives

I have come thirty times.
First, from a thousand miles and forty years away.
Now, through twenty years from forty miles.
Each time I stand in awe
of this public beauty and my private privilege,
and, for a moment,
each time I imagine all who have shared them.

Sometimes,
far from here,
among strangers
enjoying separately a common experience,
I think of here
and want to ask if we have it in common too
--a memory that would make us kin.

I have never braved that question.
But, here, today,
I will ask you about a distant place I once visited.
For if we share two places
we will meet for the first time as old friends.

No matter your answer,
we will go separate ways
to add like photograph to like album,
to write, perhaps,
a note about this place,
and include, perhaps,
something about the shadow of our photographer.




 

Bob Komives :: Fort Collins  © 1995 :: Shadow of Our Photographer :: ,9905