Tag Archives: Tricia Knoll

Maple Bacon March Morning

Annecy_-_Carrion_crow_under_snow_PierreSelim

“A Carrion Crow Under Snow in Annecy” by Pierre Selim, via Wikimedia Commons.

Maple Bacon March Morning

A towhee’s red-rim eye caught sun yesterday,
relentless before the rain followed up

a moonless night of clouds
buffering the barred owl’s call.

On the wire, swallows step sideways,
making room. The flicker chooses

the chimney crown, drumming
his way to sex and vaunted chests.

A stellar jay follows my sleight of hand
feeding the crows on the mailbox,

the hand that mixed the fat with kibble
for the crows who stayed

through ice and several feet of snow.
The crows who like the fat the best

and for whom I ate the bacon.

—Tricia Knoll
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Tricia Knoll is an Oregon poet with two books in print – Ocean’s Laughter (Aldrich Press 2016) and Urban Wild (Finishing Line Press 2014). Website: triciaknoll.com

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A Whistle Broke

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“Wendover Woods in Autumn” by Robert Firth, via Wikimedia Commons

 

A Whistle Broke

Deep down in the woods a whistle broke
loose and tensed the dog, tail a-wave
for a parade she ached to join.

Deep down in the woods rain fell.
I planned each step heading down
as if mud might ski me to the dell.

Deep down in the woods the crows
found the owl in the firs’ high limbs
and flocked like stone throws

to drive away the dark,
to foil the dog’s sniff of jokes,
and rock me on my feet.

—Tricia Knoll
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Tricia Knoll is an Oregon poet with two books in print – Ocean’s Laughter (Aldrich Press 2016) and Urban Wild (Finishing Line Press 2014). Website: triciaknoll.com

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After the 2016 Election

tenthousandrosebushes

Image by Sandra Knauf

The Day I Helped Lop Ten Thousand Rosebushes

November 9, 2016

Wind pruning we call it. Taking the garden down
to wrist high so when the winter winds blast
down the gorge, low canes stay rooted,
refuse to topple, stand for the long haul
to first leaves, bud and bloom.

We were a tribe in coveralls and gloves,
pricked with razor thorns and lament.
The day carried November sun despite our gloom.
Our lopper tools were dull
from a summer long of use, needing
sharpening hours of winter downtime.

Yet, we lopped and whacked and whacked
and lopped. Hauled the remains on tarps
to a bucket loader for the dump truck.
One woman sorted through the loads
of fallen thorns and canes for the few tight buds
of orange and red flame mixed with yellow
that survived this late November.

We lopped and whacked and whacked
and lopped, and bent our backs, tired
from too late a TV night. Repetitive motion
to ensure the thorns will grow back
and perhaps allow another rose
to bloom out of this fierce, sad work.

—Tricia Knoll
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Tricia Knoll is an Oregon poet with two books in print – Ocean’s Laughter (Aldrich Press 2016) and Urban Wild (Finishing Line Press 2014). Website: triciaknoll.com

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Queen of the Nightshades

tomato-queen-reversed

Poem note: I’ll be eating the last garden-fresh ripe tomato later this week—Cherokees ripened on the kitchen table. The race is on—last tomato or last rose. The roses usually win here in Oregon.
—Tricia Knoll

Queen of the Nightshades 

I told the girls, old girls you know and several of them,
to bury me in the garden where my ripe tomatoes grow.
Ashes or whatever, stir them in because when I’m counting
seasons of the many’s—those repetitive accumulations
of cars, dogs, summers and blue jeans, I never forget tomatoes,
varieties I’ve made deep holes to plant in gardens
that moved from the side of a cliff to near an urban driveway
to a rototilled vegetable garden on a gentle southside slope
and now to rows of raised beds. Photos of my buckets
of ripe red tomatoes  get me through
cold months of the year while I ignore hothouse
winter tomatoes. These Romas. Cherokees, candy
Sun-Golds, and then the Brandywines.

This major-domo of the garden blesses each tomato
that balloons to juicy from inelegant yellow flower,
a bud that makes few promises of succulence.
I begin to a circle dance around the sprawl
in August. The red queen holds court
with basil and marigolds who sit on the sidelines
valiantly cheering her on for vigor
and determination.

Ah, ripe tomatoes, for the gardener
what no one on the faraway factory farm
can ever make sweeter, redder,
or better. Bury me where my red queen grows.

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Tricia Knoll is an Oregon poet with two books in print—Ocean’s Laughter (Aldrich Press 2016) and Urban Wild (Finishing Line Press 2014). Website: triciaknoll.com

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October

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Image from Wikimedia Commons, attributed to http://www.ForestWander.com

October

The gesture of October is sneaking
rain-green back into dry moss,
painting north to drop
hand-me-down leaves
to the ground’s open palm.

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Tricia Knoll is an Oregon poet with two books in print – Ocean’s Laughter (Aldrich Press 2016) and Urban Wild (Finishing Line Press 2014). Website: triciaknoll.com

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Backyard Chickens

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Photo by Tricia Knoll. Tricia says the chickens are from Broadfork Farm, Trout Lake Washington, where she farmsits once or twice a year. She mentions that she might do a Broadfork Farm chapbook one day. I, for one, would LOVE that! – Sandra Knauf

 

We get it!
We get it – no roosters!

The coops go up,
cuter than cute.

Free-rangers strut
pompons on parade,
stick-legged chicken races
finish photos on Facebook.

Coyotes
and raccoons sneak
around the condos –
henitentiary fortifications
intensify.

Do senior chickens
who no longer lay
collect social obscurity?
Who broils Flocksie and Tottsie?
The Buddhists won’t.

But the eggs, the eggs!
Sunshine yolks
nestled in blue, green,
brown and ecru jewel boxes.
The eggs!

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Tricia Knoll is an Oregon poet with two books in print – Ocean’s Laughter (Aldrich Press 2016) and Urban Wild (Finishing Line Press 2014). Website: triciaknoll.com

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Clothing My Toes

tricia-knoll-pumpkin-squeeze

Tricia sent me a fabulous poem about the beginning of fall, Clothing My Toes. I couldn’t find just the right image, so she offered this one yesterday, with this note:

Here’s the withered pumpkin vine. Note that the gardener got inventive with fencing material for climbing up the pie pumpkins. It worked well except for this pumpkin that decided to grow in the middle of the fence.  Oh, that gardener was me.

I had to laugh, even while feeling just a little bit sorry for that pumpkin and her tight corset. Tricia said it’d all be fine; soon she’d be harvested and made into a beautiful and delicious Thanksgiving pie.

—Sandra Knauf

Clothing My Toes

When leaves begin to fall at the beginning of August,
I turn my face aside, thinking them weak.

Sure, I collect black lupine seeds
to sow near the creek next spring.

When the furnace man comes two weeks later
to service the fan, I hand him two brandywine tomatoes

to say we are so far from winter, aren’t we good caretakers
even if the green bean vines are withery and the beans go fat.

When the pumpkins ripen on a mildewed vine,
I look forward to thanksgiving pies and soups.

The rainstorm that blew in after a half day of thickening clouds
made me glad the asters would get more water.

The hummingbird has so much in the garden to taste test
that I have not had to refill the feeder this week.

It wasn’t until today, the first of September
when I pulled out a pair of socks

for the first time in months
that I switched on fall.

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Tricia Knoll is an Oregon poet with two books in print – Ocean’s Laughter (Aldrich Press 2016) and Urban Wild (Finishing Line Press 2014). Website: triciaknoll.com

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Through a Garden Gate

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Framing the Garden in Photo and Poetry

Gardeners and photographers have in common a reverence for “frame.” Gardeners prune to get the right view through a bush to another plant, a stone, a gate. The photographer crops a photo to change the focus. When a poet collaborates to hone to the essence of a garden, a beautiful book of poetry and photos of a large garden results: Though a Garden Gate.

The photographer and landscape designer of his own garden is Vincent Covello who is well-known as a risk and crisis consultant. The poet is Charlotte Mandel who has received widespread recognition as a poet from New Jersey who recently retired from teaching poetry writing at Barnard College Center for Research on Women.

Mandel issues “A guided invitation to a garden path” in one of her poems. The book is a leisurely stroll through a carefully designed ten-acre garden landscape that catches the frames of a Chinese Garden and gate, dark wood torii gates, standing stones at sunrise, falling water, a Japanese fountain and the reflections of oak leaves in a pond. The seasons kaleidoscope through poetry and photos of the flowering cherry in its “breeze-sent dance,” the vernal equinox’s “report on summer’s evolving designs,” how October acts like a season’s traffic signal, and the first footsteps in snow through an aging gate garden waits through winter with the animals in their burrows. The book captures both the joy and wabi sabi of gardening.

In the middle of this collaboration, the poet and photographer stop at “Enclave –”

Later afternoon, a cloisonné tray
will be brought with two
crystal stemmed glasses
of dark red dubonnet
and on other days
a golden sherry

This is where the gardener rests after “assiduous caretaking – lift dig prune weed” and the poet gets to raise her glass to the twilight and assemble the spirit that comes close to the end of the collection:

Let the garden teach patience
in changes of earth, water, rock, wind,
the play of wills by a gardener
who has gazed at starved ground,
a straggle of brush and skeletal trees,
and said, “Let there be this.”

We gardeners know the hard work of arranging, rearranging, cutting, digging – creating garden frames that lift us out of the ordinary into transformation into quiet beauty. This book may well serve as an inspiration to other poet-gardeners like me to revere our work from the sky blue morning glory in August heat to the quiet winter garden in repose. It did that for me.

—Tricia Knoll

mandel and covello (2)

Vincent and Charlotte 72614 (2)

The author and photographer; photo by Carol Ann Mandel.

Through a Garden Gate, a collaboration of photographs by Vincent Covello and poet Charlotte Mandel, (WordTech Communications, 2015). 57 pages of poetry and color photographs. Available at Amazon for $20.

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Tricia Knoll is an Oregon poet with two books in print – Ocean’s Laughter (Aldrich Press 2016) and Urban Wild (Finishing Line Press 2014). Website: triciaknoll.com

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August Raspberries

Rød_Antwerpske_(2)

Raspberry – Red Antwerpske, Danish Archives via Wikimedia Commons

August Raspberries

When life comes down to eating slightly white
raspberries, when aging purple ones dry up half
off the drupelets or bird plucked remnants hang
jiggered and some canes wither into brown,
I hardly recall solstice and what fresh coming on
felt like. Birds made off with the last blueberries.
Sure, the zucchini, onions, and bowling ball
squash signal time goes fat in spades. Kale
holds up its reliable head. This sun is hot
enough to melt the frozen raspberries we picked
and stored weeks ago. I’m just not ready to eat them.

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Photo by Darrell Salk.

Tricia Knoll is an Oregon poet with two books in print – Ocean’s Laughter (Aldrich Press 2016) and Urban Wild (Finishing Line Press 2014). Website: triciaknoll.com

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Sunflower

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“Close-up of the involucre of a sunflower (Helianthus)”. Image by 3268zauber via Wikimedia Commons

 

Sunflower

Starburst
meteor shower
June drizzle
rainbow
gift wrap
birthday candle
one wish
wind blow
seed sow
wormhole
root raceway
green sprout
bean stalk
giant’s head
corolla choir
crown coronet
gold coin
soil bank
dig in
pull up
chin out
twittered perch
fractal dance
fall fling
seed spill
loose tooth
reboot
naked truth
sun salute
sunflower

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Photo by Darrell Salk.

Tricia Knoll is an Oregon poet with two books in print – Ocean’s Laughter(Aldrich Press 2016) and Urban Wild (Finishing Line Press 2014). Website: triciaknoll.com

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