One day I'll drive there.
On the way
I'll tell my wife about the Modoc woman,
who lived outside the city,
above a sea lion rookery.
She taught me a Klamath-Modoc prayer:
“I want you animals to know, open your eyes,
a hungry man has killed one of you.
One day we will find out
what happened to its spirit
then we will go meet with it,
for it was my brother.”
She rowed a boat on the spume
of the wild cove waves.
I knew her, she had the way of truth in her.
When I get to the Redwoods,
I'll visit her clapboard home.
Look for her twelve year old Ford truck,
her briny patch of hand-reared garden,
her small surf-riding boat.
The sheriff reported her, `missing in transit.'
Maybe she went off
with that son-of-a- jailbird
who had twice tried to kill her.
I'll take the back roads, getting lost
until we reach the ocean.
When we get to Crescent City,
we'll sit by the harbor and watch the sea lions
savoring their deep throated funk.
I'll tell my wife I love her,
and she will taste the salt of my words.
Crater Lake, Oregon
a lake sacred to the indigenous Klamath tribe
she appeared after collapse of Mt. Mazama
doorway portal to the underworld
Crater Lake
where spirit Llao fell in love with a Native American woman
declared he wanted to marry her
burned surrounding forests when her father, a chief, said no.
Battled with Skell, another spirit who loved the same woman
Crater Lake legends and facts
Suicides
Disappearances
Ghosts
UFO’s
Bigfoot
Clear azure color of water keeping her secrets
One day I'll drive there.
On the way
I'll tell my wife about the Modoc woman,
who lived outside the city
above a sea lion rookery.
She taught me a Klamath-Modoc prayer:
“I want you animals to know, Open your eyes.
A hungry man has killed one of you.
One day we will find out
what happened to its spirit
then we will go meet with it,
for it was my brother.”
She rowed a boat on the spume
of the wild cove waves.
I knew her, she had the way of truth in her.
When I get to the Redwoods,
I'll visit her clapboard home.
Look for her twelve year old Ford truck,
her briny patch of hand-reared garden,
her small surf-riding boat.
The sheriff reported her, `missing in transit.'
Maybe she went off
with that son-of-a- jailbird
who had twice tried to kill her.
I'll take the backroads, getting lost
until we reach the ocean.
When we get to Crescent City,
we'll sit by the harbor and watch the sea lions,
savoring their deep throated funk.
I'll tell my wife I love her,
and she will taste the salty truth of my words.
When I get to the Redwoods,
I’ll look for her clapboard home
above a sea-lion rookery.
I will seek out
her twelve-year-old Ford truck,
her briny patch of hand-reared garden,
her small surf-riding boat.
She’s native,
she taught me a Klamath-Modoc hunting prayer:
“I want you to know,
that a hungry man has killed you.
We will meet once more,
for you are my brother.”
I knew her by her seasoning.
The sheriff reported her, `missing in transit.’
Maybe she went off
with that s.o.b. jailbird
who twice tried to kill her.
I’ll take the back roads, getting lost
until I reach the ocean.
When I get to Crescent City,
I will sit by the harbor and watch the sea lions;
savoring their deep throated funk.
I will maybe say a hunting prayer;
a self-hunting prayer.
unfettered
on its way to the sea
bathing the land with all its riches
from its source to the ocean where it spends itself
flowing wild and free from the beginning of time
the fish, the bear, and the otter's place
native people's mother
The Klamath
The Klamath River is located in northern Calfornia ..a wild river , beautiful, and
on of my favorite places on earth.
Spray painted on the bridge guardrail
The words "Two Feathers is pok li la..."
Past and the present meet by the river
The old ways remembered by the young.
Two Feathers in an "upstream man"
Tribes of the mother river, the Klamath
Nurturing their spirit and feeding the body
Through the ages as it runs to the sea..
Hupa, Yurok and Kurok tribes have lived for thousands of years along the beautiful
Klamath River in northern California.
For Deb's contest.
Drops on the river
Silver ripples spread-
Rust colors the bank
Remembering getting caught in a fall
shower while fishing on the Klamath River.
Mist rises from the mountains and meets
rain clouds spilling down the canyon.
Fish ducks fly up river, their
breasts just skimming the water.
The heron stands in the shallows, his
neck arched, looking deep into the riffle.
Fish rise to feed in the cool water; the
river otters play on the grey rocks.
Rain drops like diamonds on the surface
of the water; peaceful moments on the river.
Just returned from a fishing trip on the Klamath River
in northern Ca. Glorious!
Drifting by variegated green banks,
Moving water in all shades of blue.
A trout flashing his silver sides,
The setting sun in a golden hue.
The brown of restless rocky bottom,
Shadowed eddies beaded with black.
Wiley otters play in shades of grey,
A wood duck with gilded red on it’s back.
The Klamath River a kaleidoscope of color,
One of the last wild rivers in this “golden” state.
California once crowned by natural beauty,
Safeguard what remains… before it’s to late.
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