Friday, July 22, 2016

Thursday, July 21, 2016

Hawk Season Notebook #69

Hawk Season Notebook #69

Early evening cell phones on vibrate,
a circle of grey-faced smokers on a drought-parched
funeral home lawn, heads bowed,
but not enough for a Stetson to fall off.

Wednesday, July 13, 2016

Hawk Season Notebook #38: The Far Away Part

Hawk Season Notebook #38
The Far Away Part

In a dark room, you face a mirror... try to share a picture shaved from coyote-memory. Shallow at that end of the pool. Your voice is crackly-dry... an orphan. Who, indeed, is pulling those clouds across the sky? You shift weight from one side to the other... keeping in mind that there is no there way out there... not where the shredded story began.

Monday, July 4, 2016

JULY 2016, A Red Shuttleworth Poetry Chapbook

July 2016


Red Shuttleworth

July 2016, the latest Red Shuttleworth poetry chapbook, is issued in a limited edition by Bunchgrass Press.

The poems contained are:

Hawk Season Notebook #21

End of a Thunderstorm Weekend

Hawk Season Notebook #23

Summer Time-Shroud

Straight Ahead: 36

Red Shuttleworth
2016 Western Heritage (Wrangler) Award for Poetry
(for Woe to the Land Shadowing from Blue Horse Press)
from The National Cowboy and Western Heritage Museum

Saturday, July 2, 2016

Hawk Season Notebook #23

Hawk Season Notebook # 23

You break sleep, win a pain-free turn on the bed, no spinal chaos. The hot-whirl of July begins today. Half-memory from a dream: a Texas honky tonk's maple bar... with a line of red plastic go-cups foamy with beer. A skinny big-hair blonde in a suede skirt and unbuttoned yellow-orange silk blouse, no bra... one breast out on its lonesome... a bullet-noggin' nipple. Sorrow-ballad from a scratch-static radio. Near the door there's a rotating wire tower for West Texas landscape postcards, a glass-top display case for Old West badges. You hear diesel-rumble from outside... long-haul rigs. The blonde is assembling a cedar doghouse. Wood shavings... gold wood shavings slow-fall to a sawdust floor like summer holiday sparkles. You have broken sleep. You stand at a bedroom window: an idle center pivot a hundred yards south in your neighbor's pasture, a few high summer clouds, and further south --twenty miles away-- industrial smoke from a town's on-fire silicone plant. Your bedroom is quiet.  You know men with sons named Stetson and Nocona... know women who name daughters Sage and Reata. You feel balance... or the resemblance of balance.

Hawk Season Notebook #21

Hawk Season Notebook #21

1:23 a.m.
No rescue from a black desert sky.
You're stranded in the dark.