by

Coyote Nights

Always    a January moon

cold     clear    full

the high pitched screech

yik-yik-yeeee

raise    hackles

with    the sharp    high barks.

they are    naming    who’s where

who’s here     and moving

moving    breaching    boundary

digging under     wire fence

no barrier    all an easy under

the small dog bark

next door

a stop     no more sound.

 

One, two cry high

celebrate     the night

moving     circling in

all sides   rimmed    in sound

the calling    the hunting down

call the kill     is here

the feast     celebrate

a mating night

cold    clear    beauty

a dance     of sounds

love to kill    kill to love

circle    tight

deceiving    with   echo

and    the knowing

and    the homing in

the thriving    in ravines and hills.

 

 

This poem was written after an evening trying to round up my cats because the coyotes were screeching within some hundred feet of our home.  It was a blood curdling sound that scared the heck out of me, but it didn’t phase the cats who are still not street wise at seven months. 

by

The 3030 Poem a Day Challenge Jan. 1, 2014

For 30/30:  January 1, 2013

First Things                                      Catherine Evans Latta

Rinsing raisins for the steel cut oats

painful under the winter cold town water,

out on the garage corner the driveway hose

intentionally left at a drizzle all night

has a puddle frozen solid white in hope

to save the pipes. It’s an easy surmise,

last night’s precautions most likely futile.

Hands cupped stiff under the faucet

I believe I’m saving me from

the dangers of raisin residues

bug killer maybe rat turd dust

ossified on drying racks last summer.

No doubt inland vineyards frozen solid too

first light revealing fall yellow leaves curled dry.

Of a sudden water milk and honey foam up

to the edge of the pot. I add oats

raisins, nuts.  Fifteen minutes

enough with the fire on low to go

turn off the hose, unblanket and feed

our white steam snorting horses.

Walking back white hoar frost sugars

the red roses.  I’ll brown sugar the oatmeal.