Category: crone chronicles

oh august,

On By ©️K.T. 2026In agraria, August, bucolia, climate, Climate Acceptance, Climate Chaos, crone chronicles, dirt road chronicles, Earth hospice, from the inner city to outer rural, mortality, night, nightfall, Poem, poetry, Proof of Life, ruralia, summerLeave a comment

humidity hovers around 90 percent even after dark, what i imagine night in a bayou is, even though i’ve never been

still,
i’ll take this corn sweat
over
the asphalt,
the people,
the noise,
the garbage,
the grimied towers, canyons and rivers of cement

and this unrelenting red dirt road dust and sandy soil
instead of
hyperscale “centers of data”

and this light that only
glows quiet
and doesn’t rudely intrude and idle all night //

much of my skin is sun-spotted in shades of brown; the backs of my hand are worn and washed shiny;
my bare feet, beyond dirty;
my soles and palms roughened,
well before your five o’clock
shadow

but
my hands,
my footprint,
my money

they’re cleaner, i think;

not laundered, but with an intentional, continuous cleansing — a secular daily ghusl //

at dusk,

i fill a basin with scented salts
and wear away at another
bar of Lava soap
while rationing my remaining bars of West Bank, olive soap — packaged and delivered in a box with xeroxed pages of poems by Palestinian poets well before 2023 //

Continue reading “oh august,” →

summer

On By ©️K.T. 2026In america, American Apartheid, American Imperialism, anti-fascism, Capitalism, Congo, Crone, crone chronicles, Crone Consciousness, Cronehood, Fascism, flora, Fourth of July, Free Palestine, Gaza, Genocide, june, Liberalism, liberals, patriotism, Poem, poetry, Roses, Solstice, summer, United States of America, WarLeave a comment

june, you, monthlong solstice

your 30 days of day

of Light’s false dominion /

he suggests a good way to estimate
the number of roses on my climbing rose bush
is to count the number of buds and blossoms on one linear foot of branch

so, I do.

there are 60 or more

i probably missed some

then 6,000? or more?! on this eight year old gem

how many june bouquets, boutonnières and corsages they would a florist supply

instead,
i keep them all for future rose hips,

and refuse to prune
unless a branch cracks under

the weight of drenched petals in this year’s wild june rainstorms

so many vases i have filled this june.

i suggest that i may create a perimeter of this variety of rose
an impenetrable devastating fortress of thornage — a natural, beautiful “devil’s rope”

i once saw a group of mule deer clear an 8′ fence in colorado — without a running start, could a herd of robot dogs do that?

he sees i’ve saved old nails, screws and Mexican coke and beer bottle caps in an empty 3lb coffee tin

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fawn

On By ©️K.T. 2026In agraria, anthropocene, autobiographical, Birth, Chicago, confessional, confessional poetry, Crone, crone chronicles, Crone Consciousness, death and other endings, deer, dirt road chronicles, earthlings, ecocide, fauna, from the inner city to outer rural, heartbreak, maternity, May, Mother, Mother's Day, Motherhood, nostalgia, Poem, poet, poetry, ruralia, timeLeave a comment

yester day
i counted more than 30 species of birds, here
first, i kept a running list in my head
then, i made a google doc to share

and i didn’t even know there was an organized
bird migration count happening
until after the fact /

this morning,
it finally felt
vernal
warm, new air,
a gentle breeze
the exact kind of day to find a fawn nested in the tall grasses around a mulberry or walnut tree
while her mother is off foraging

every one is being born today
every one is dying today

somewhere

it seems //

i can’t remember what it feels like to be a beloved daughter
i can’t remember what it feels like to be a loving daughter

now, repeat those sentences with the word mother instead of daughter

everything is drifting,
has drifted

every thing is being pulled away,
has pulled away

the gravity of me is no longer enough
to hold these familiar bodies in orbit

in a system of we,
in a galaxy of us,

we existed,

only on paper, i think.

but not on kodak paper; you hated

both portraits & candids,

& taught me to hate them too/

and today,

on “World Migratory Bird Day”

the May Plow arrived even as every one is

gestating,
laboring,
birthing,
nesting,
laying,

birds, turtles, deer,
chipmunks,
wild turkeys, cranes,
geese and snakes

the timing of these men with their machines is so detached

from the cycle of Earthling life:

mothering,
arriving,
hatching,
latching,
nursing
feeding

raising and rearing.

protecting.

the products of men with their machines are fertilized with phosphate, nitrogen, ammonia, urea
unironically sourced from the Fertile Crescent
shipped via the Strait of Hormuz
because their forefathers, not foremothers, strip-mined the soil of Turtle Island, barren, a hundred years or more, ago

you manifested your destiny !!

so,

happy-and-proud Semiquincentennial,
dear western european Whitey ////

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january 10 2025

On By ©️K.T. 2026In america, anthropocene, bucolia, Capitalism, Climate Chaos, Climate Collapse, Colonization, Crone, crone chronicles, Crone Consciousness, dirt road chronicles, Earth, Earth hospice, Earthling, Fascism, from the inner city to outer rural, Genocide, goodbye city life, heartbreak, january, kinship, Lamentations, outer rural, planetary hospice, PoemLeave a comment

a sweet spot, a warm, quiet evening,

of a too-soft winter here,

on & of the good Earth,

that tempts the comfortable one

to flirt with forgetting

the hard totality

of this hot and cold, man-made,

loud and brutal World.

waiting for the bough to break

On By ©️K.T. 2026In author, autobiographical, crone chronicles, death and other endings, december, dirt road chronicles, earthlings, endings, Essay, flora, Gaza, Genocide, grief, kin, Life and Death, liminality, mortality, Palestine, plant beings, Reverence, threshold, time, Tree, Trees, writerLeave a comment

i am waiting for the bough to break — or, to be severed by proxy at my behest.

earlier this week on my daily walk-about, i noticed that a primary limb, the major artery, on a nearly 80’ tall and likely nearing 100 years-old, elm tree on the land i occupy, had cleaved and that the fracture was migrating down into the trunk — and dangerously so.

i don’t know the cause: if it was the abrupt shift in temperature to freezing here in southwest Michigan — or, if the tree was stressed from a standing-water-wet spring followed by a very dry summer, or if “it” is simply at the end of their life — all the elms here had unusually held onto an abundance of their prolific leaves until the fourth week of November.

no matter.

the matters:

the massive limb of the elm stretches high and precariously over the old barn, and depending on the wind direction, there’s a chance if it falls, it could clip the back of my house or take the whole tree down with it.

i await the tree surgery & removal crew. i am at their and the northerly and westerly gusts’ mercy.

in the meantime, i have also been wrestling with the possible choice of whether to have the crew amputate just the cleaved limbs — if the tree is in fact salvageable — or, to remove the entire tree at once instead of forestalling the inevitable.

Continue reading “waiting for the bough to break” →

contemplating intent, consent, kill lists and ceasefire: deer hunting season, regular firearm, November 15 – 30, 2024 Michigan, U.S.

On By ©️K.T. 2026In agraria, america, Animals, anthropocene, autumn, Ceasefire, Crone, crone chronicles, Crone Consciousness, Cronehood, Death, deer, deer hunting, Earth hospice, Earthling, earthlings, ecocide, Essay, fauna, Gaza, Genocide, holocaust, hunters, hunting, hunting season, Hylic, kin, kinship, Life and Death, liminality, limineen, Manifest Destiny, November, outer rural, Palestine, Philosophy, planetary hospice, Politics, Psychic, ruralia, the accidental seeker & intentional opiner, the old gods, Tradition As Violence, Tradition Is Violence, ZionismLeave a comment

“The assumption that animals are without rights and the illusion that our treatment of them has no moral significance is a positively outrageous example of Western crudity and barbarity. Universal compassion is the only guarantee of morality.”

Arthur Schopenhauer.

a white-tailed deer drinks from a bird bath,
which was presumed to be of exclusive use of songbirds — especially, eastern bluebirds,
on the land the author occupies
Halloween 2024
“all treatery, no trickery”

Regular firearm, deer hunting season began yesterday in Michigan, United States of America, and the crack of rifles and the blast of shotguns destroy both peace and life.

There is some version of a legalized, defined kill list or belated, legalized “protection list” for nearly every non-human animal being population on Earth. And, for human animal being populations on Earth too.

What defines murder for human beings, of the human animal body?

INTENT.

All Hunting is INTENT – intent to kill.

All animal “livestock” agriculture is INTENT — intent to kill for profit.

Genocide is INTENT.

Continue reading “contemplating intent, consent, kill lists and ceasefire: deer hunting season, regular firearm, November 15 – 30, 2024 Michigan, U.S.” →