POEMS
HIS AND HERS
Tin baths
one steamed
to stars
one cooled
to Mars
twinned
as olive-branched
grins
handheld
silence
moon
rising
Great Owl hoot
scoop of etched
wing reflects
a cusp of leaf
tender as a plaid
of words
yet swum
An original poem by Nancy Cavers Dougherty, Westview, May 2010
Inversion
that there is tule fog across the fields most winter dawns
binds to the grass trunks of trees late blooms of roses
orange perennials
vehicles flash past
last vestige of color grayed over
to almost nothing perceptible just a last trace of
living plant matter greenery holding onto ravaged dirt &
things like fences & roadways with trucks commuters
ancient rites of movement propel us forth and over
rock & lava over graves and mislaid tools dusty
ledgers & records
of past harvests & seasons crops of another day –
before
fossil fuels & big-wheeled tractors & wineries
dotting the hillocks
that the life of cows moves over to the next pasture
ranchers & cowboys too their shadows
across the fields most winter dawns
An original poem by Nancy Cavers Dougherty, West Marin Review, May 2019
Sounds of Winter
Anna Maria Island, Florida
pure punctuations of childvoice bounce over
white fence, high pitch of innocence
under-rumble of pool equipment
a dog barks, casually, occasionally
low murmur of the Gulf beyond—
cry of gulls
the sunglare, the white sands, pink flamingos on pillows,
walls, coasters hum Just Like Paradise
shadows of palms flit and waver over the stucco
of one-story beach homes, a pantomime
fronds moving, whispering all-day long, like close-bound
friends
gentle season teases
An original poem by Nancy Cavers Dougherty, The 2021 Redwood Writers Poetry Anthology: Beyond Distance
Ringed in the Heart
Twisted turned upwards flat
or pinioned. "Which one is this?"
I hold out a branch and cone
within my palm as we hike on a trail loop
to Lake Juniper.
All this growth what is left after fire &
ash through the millennium. Soft bed
of needles chunks of bark and pulp
crunch with each step.
Without words, we breathe in
sweetness of sap and rings of
the years, now being carried away
by the black ants. They work
in pairs, have burrows, are quicker
than freight trains. Dragonflies.
Speed boats.
If you can't count
the waves whyever could
you count the years. Ringed in
your heart held in blood-sap
closed & tight as a fist.
Like the cones of the white fir
irregular each section &
indestructible. Fire water wind
and dirt held for eternity.
The shoots of the miniature
trees abound.
An original poem by Nancy Cavers Dougherty, I-70 Review, Summer/Fall 2016
