Neil Meili

Zen Cowboy Poet & Freelance Philosopher

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An Invitation

Uncategorized / September 21, 2018 / by neil_2015_wordpress@neilmeili.com

Neil wanders the world in awe – Mirrors and metaphor everywhere. You can join him on this journey with a Poem in your Inbox every day. Click Here to start today

Ides of April

Remembering / tagged Fire, Paris / October 15, 2019 / by neil_2015_wordpress@neilmeili.com

In the cathedral of Notre Dame a holy hush long reigned Soft kiss of shoe on stone soft cross and genuflect of knee beneath the breath confession and whispered rosaries of rote But sometimes you just have to scream

6 months ago today the famous Notre Dame Cathedral in Paris suffered a terrible fire. This photo was taken during the blaze.

2 Replies

Pie

Nostalgia, Ranch Life / tagged Baking, Family Traditions / October 14, 2019 / by neil_2015_wordpress@neilmeili.com

It ain’t the pie
it’s that Momma made it

Lemon with mountain meringue

Deep apple - with a slice of cheese
(or else it’s the kiss without the squeeze)

Blueberry, saskatoon or cherry
the berry can vary the taste’s the same

Wood-fired memory of the ranch again

Enjoying leftover pie for breakfast today – Remnants of our Canadian Thanksgiving feast.

Baling Love

Audio Recordings, Cattle, Cowboy Poetry, Cows, Farm, Manure, Ranch Life / October 13, 2019 / by neil_2015_wordpress@neilmeili.com

When it’s over 90 in July alfalfa gets dry
and blows into the knotter
and the knots won’t stay tied
So you ride on the bouncing back
where each ke-chunk of the plunger
blows chaff in your eye as you search for
loose ends of twine that you finally find
and tie into a new knot, with love, or not

Then you pile them in piles of five
to keep the wet weather at bay
and you pile them any which way
or you pile them with love and pride
pile them right like Frank Lloyd Wright

Hurried by a wind blowing in from Alaska
You handle that same bale again in the fall
tossing it up on the wagon, kneeing it with
bloody knees through thistle-torn jeans, or
an overhand flip with a three-tined fork and
the grace and precision of a pole vault champ

Fourth time you see that bale
you unload that wagon and make a stack
while chaff turns your collar to sandpaper
And you can do it so when you stand back
you can see every bale fits without a crack

Fifth time you see that bale
it’s winter and maybe forty below
prying frozen cubes out of that stack
where the cattle are waiting, with steam
rising from hot breath and fresh manure
and you carefully cut each Ariadne thread
so not even Theseus could follow it back
through their labyrinth of seven stomachs

Next time you see it is in late spring
when four feet of crap in the calf shed has
melted to the bottom and you’re in and out
with the front end loader and the ammonia
clearing a whole winter from your sinuses

And then off to the fields to spread it out and
complete the circle, trying to stay up wind
and as old Bob used to say, “keeping your
mouth open to keep your face clean”

All that to feed your family, and the world
all that with love, or not

Photo by Brett Jordan on Unsplash

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Ode to the Farmer

Audio Recordings, Cowboy Poetry, Farm, Ranch Life / October 12, 2019 / by neil_2015_wordpress@neilmeili.com

No one will be surprised by the report
that farming is a very dangerous sport

What flapping empty-fingered gloves
point back to momentary lapses
What limbs with what power
have been taken off
by power take-offs

What tendons snapped like glass
and bones cut clean as grass
by unthinking mowers

And what of those neighbours
dead and true
who for a minute forgetting
what they knew
through red machines
combined with their grain
All these have earned his dusty tear
and many a “who’s next” fear

Year after year after year after year

And yet deep in the soils of time
the seeds of his goodness
are growing
while the world
turns in slow seasons

And he will be ready
when at last they declare
a true war on poverty
and are willing to bomb
with wheat

Field of Vision

Farm, Ranch Life / tagged Ego / October 11, 2019 / by neil_2015_wordpress@neilmeili.com

Paranoid farmer
deep in the gold of a sunflower field
morning and evening aware
that he is being watched

Narcissist son by his side
basking in the glow

Photo by Lachlan Gowen on Unsplash

Freud and Shadenfreude

Relationships / tagged Guilt, Psychology / October 10, 2019 / by neil_2015_wordpress@neilmeili.com

Happy to be happy
by your un
as emperor unclothed

Til Siggy sigmoids
and spoils again the fun
with knots of mother’s prudes

Thou shalt avert thine eyes
from nudes

The Third Time

Relationships / October 9, 2019 / by neil_2015_wordpress@neilmeili.com

A caution when aiding the drowning
sometimes they take you down
and pop up again downstream
to take another

Becoming the Sea

Haiku / October 8, 2019 / by neil_2015_wordpress@neilmeili.com

Becoming the sea
I thought that I thought something
then I wasn’t shore

The Dead are Good Tippers

Uncategorized / tagged Care, Death, Karma / October 7, 2019 / by neil_2015_wordpress@neilmeili.com

The hospice nurse
may change the bed
and think the dead are dead

Hurry home to feed the kids
and mend the things to mend

But if they feel a debt doth pend
she’ll find out in the end

A Farewell to Eric

Relationships, Travel / tagged Death / October 6, 2019 / by neil_2015_wordpress@neilmeili.com

In nineteen seventy five
In the rainforests of Venezuela
Eric lived for a year with the
Yanomami
He also lived with the Hunkpapa
the little people that only the
shamans see
unless you toke what the shamans toke
then you can see them too
When Eric was ready to go home
the Yanomami gathered by the river
and wailed and mourned as if he’d died
Eric says his goodbyes and tries to start his boat
Tuned up, new plugs and all, but it just won’t start
He pulls and pulls while the
tribesmen wail
After what seems like a very long time
the shaman comes down to the boat
and asks Eric if he’s sure he must leave
Eric insists again that the time has come
The shaman admits that he has placed
Hunkpapas in the motor to keep him there
He pulls them out one by one
juggling them hot in his hands
and throws them steaming into the river
One pull and the motor starts
In two thousand and twelve in Austin
Eric is ready to go home again
Many wail and wish that he would stay
but he knows that it is time to leave
At times like this it helps
to have a shaman for a friend
John Hawk flies in and reads
Eric’s poems to the Hunkpapas
and watches as the little people leave
It takes a few pulls, but the motor starts

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Latest Poetry

Ides of April
Pie
Baling Love
Ode to the Farmer
Field of Vision

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