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Singletrak Redux | old bones, new snow

https://oldbonesnewsnow.com/2015/06/10/singletrak-redux-mountain-biking-meditation

Old bones, new snow. Digging out with words and images. June 10, 2015. The one that both sits in shamatha and the one asks, self, how did I get here, as the trail angles steeply toward that ridge line way, way up there. Without the effort, there’s no progress. Moreover, I needed to commit to climbing these hills over and over again. One big climb doesn’t make a season, or a rider. The juice is in the consistency. For me, climbing on a bike is a shamatha practice. As Popeye says, I yam what I yam. Being a...

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Five Dogs In | old bones, new snow

https://oldbonesnewsnow.com/2015/08/11/five-dogs-in

Old bones, new snow. Digging out with words and images. August 11, 2015. On a somewhat friendlier note (than Suicidal manikins…). Action jackson, yes? Each of my dogs has taught me. How to be better to the next. Five dogs in finally gentled. Abby, early morning 2012. In the evening after the heat. Has broken and the dishes are done. The air in the house goes silver –. Late day light filtering in. My dog and I like to sit in that light. And listen to the world as it cools. He looks up and catches me.

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chilidish things | old bones, new snow

https://oldbonesnewsnow.com/2015/07/11/death-grave-flight-children

Old bones, new snow. Digging out with words and images. July 11, 2015. I was walking in a bookstore when the phrase, “we always believed that she could fly” came into my mind, loudly. That night, a poem arose. The details are from my mother’s memorial…. Detail of weathered tombstone, barnett, VT. We stood in a circle about the grave. Some read poems and some. Chose silence. the funeral director. Placed her ashes into the hole. While redwing blackbirds sang. In the fields. we always assumed. Paula- so sor...

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About | old bones, new snow

https://oldbonesnewsnow.com/about

Old bones, new snow. Digging out with words and images. Author, photographer, chief cook and bottle washer. Old bones, new snow. Explores how words and images, poetry and photography, interact and affect one another. After a quarter century on Wall St, where the maxim is “eat what you kill” (and “eat or be eaten”…), Old Bones is my late in life playground. In Shambhala, we often refer to “Sacred World.” With grace, some of that comes through in Old Bones, New Snow. 4 thoughts on “ About. You are commenti...

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Suicidal Manikins | old bones, new snow

https://oldbonesnewsnow.com/2015/08/02/poetry-manikins-photography-loneliness

Old bones, new snow. Digging out with words and images. August 2, 2015. Stay tuned for a rather unusual gallery soon to go up on http:/ www.jfinkimages.com. For many years, I’ve shot the often disturbing images of manikins the world over –. Are we ever sure? Dance in midnight storefront. At their supports — willing to risk. For a single moment. One thought on “ Suicidal Manikins. August 11, 2015 at 2:28 am. Leave a Reply Cancel reply. Enter your comment here. Address never made public). Digging out with ...

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Rock, River, Sand – Feeling the Grand Canyon…. | old bones, new snow

https://oldbonesnewsnow.com/2015/07/02/grand-canyon-poetry-photography

Old bones, new snow. Digging out with words and images. July 2, 2015. Rock, River, Sand – Feeling the Grand Canyon…. In a second reflection on “where poems come from,” sometimes you find yourself in a place so intense that you must. Write about it. Problematically, when it’s a place as iconic as the bottom of the Grand Canyon, well, it’s almost impossible to do so in anything close to a fresh way. But you have to try…. Here’s a link to a gallery of the southwest from Willie’s photo site…. Its good to be ...

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None of Those Things | old bones, new snow

https://oldbonesnewsnow.com/2015/07/19/poetry-photography-sunsets-sky-heart-patience

Old bones, new snow. Digging out with words and images. July 19, 2015. None of Those Things. The Shambhala teachings speak of “effortless effort,” the quality of effort without struggle. I’ve never been very good at this myself – at one point in my career my nickname was “the bulldozer.” But I’m workin’ on it…. This poem speaks to it as will a “Reflection” that I’ll publish soon. None of those things. There’s a voice in my head. That drives me to try,. To seek to change the shape. Knee deep in the stream,.

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Red Stone | old bones, new snow

https://oldbonesnewsnow.com/2015/06/06/poem-photo-utah-canyon-leaves-redstone

Old bones, new snow. Digging out with words and images. June 6, 2015. Note- some poems are prompted by a word or a phrase, perhaps an experience. This was suggested by an impossibly beautiful tree deep at the head of the unfortunately named “Negro Bill Canyon” off of the Colorado Rive near Moab Utah. By the time we reach the top of the canyon. We’ve walked through most of our words. This trail of sand and stone, the solitary blooms. Of tattered desert flowers. this deep in the canyon. Thanks, the tree si...

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Driving this rusty vehicle of self… | old bones, new snow

https://oldbonesnewsnow.com/2015/06/27/self-ego-offering-living-and-dying

Old bones, new snow. Digging out with words and images. June 27, 2015. Driving this rusty vehicle of self…. What is this vehicle we call the self? Certainly, the infamous ego is a part of it, but is that all of it? What does that even mean? From the perspective of our 21. Century consumer economy, the self has become the repository for all that we try, over the course of a lifetime, to accumulate —. Think of the shopping cart icon on any of your favorite e-commerce sites. And then of course we die. But n...

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My Father | old bones, new snow

https://oldbonesnewsnow.com/2015/06/21/fathers-and-sons-loss-and-redemption

Old bones, new snow. Digging out with words and images. June 21, 2015. My father with me, the baby, and my big brother Joe on the lawn of our small house in Detroit in 1958. Written April 2015 in the Wasatch Mountains of Utah —. Is beginning to howl. A late season snow coming in. By morning, everything. Will be blown back. I remember my father. Staring out the kitchen window,. Massive and simmering,. Considering the evening sky. He left the farm just before the war-. Came North, but never lost the habit.