TIMBERDOODLE PHOTOGRAPHY
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“Poetry is one of the ancient arts, and it begins as did all the fine arts, within the original wilderness of the earth.”
— Mary Oliver --

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Picture
Fired National Park Service Ranger On Valentine's Day.
I am a father, a loving husband, and dedicated civil servant.
I am an oath of office to defend and protect the constitution from all enemies foreign and domestic.
I am a work evaluation that reads “exceeds expectations."
I am the "fat on the bone."
I am being trimmed as a consequence of the popular vote
I am a United States flag raiser and folder
I am my son's "Junior Ranger" idol
I am of the place where I first told my spouse I loved her
I am a college kid’s dream job
I am the smiling face that greets you at the front door
I am your family vacation planner
I am a voice for 19 American Indian cultures
I am the protector of 2500 year old American Indian burial and ceremonial mounds
I am the defender of your public lands and waters
I am the motivation to make it up the hill
I am a generational cycle breaker
I am the toilet scrubber and soap dispenser
I am the open trail hiked by people from all walks of life
I am the highlight of your child’s school day
I am the band aid for a skinned knee
I am the lesson that showed your children that we live in a world of gifts- not commodities, that gratitude and reciprocity are the doorway to true abundance, not power, money, or fear.
I am the one who taught your kid the thrush’s song and the hawk’s cry.
I am the wildflower that brought your student joy
I am the one who told your child that they belong on this planet. That their unique gifts and existence matters.
I am an invocation for peace
I am gone from the office
I am the resistance
But mostly I'm just tired.
I am tired from weeks of being bullied and censored by billionaires
I am tired of waking up every morning at 2am wondering how I am going to provide for my family if I lose my job
I am tired of wiping away my wife’s tears and reassuring her that things will be ok for us and our growing little family that she's carrying.
Things are not ok. I am not ok. (This is the second time in under five years a dream job I worked has been eliminated. Now I may need to uproot my FAMILY again.)
Stay present, don't avert your gaze.
Until our paths cross down the trail,
Fare thee well.

Picture
Poem for Spring Equinox
Magpies and mountains, bluebirds in the snow,
Gray desert turned red, smell of pinyon pine,
Blackbirds and cranes, familial calls and dances.
It’s been a long, lonely winter without mom.
Somedays I thought the light would never come back.
This spring I’m rising softly,
like fuchsia clouds in the morning sky.
It might look like crawling instead of flying,
But these words with their wings,
Can make a heartbeat out of stone and
Will sing me out of my cage.
Picture
For my favorite school teacher:
I was a troubled boy
when you appeared to me
a big tree in a shimmering field of light.
I found comfort in your language;
songbirds singing gifts,
hymns on the wind,
your branches protected my innocence,
your leaves nourished my art.
every poem I’ve written
has grown from your roots.
every lesson plan I’ve taught
sprouted from your seeds.
Though you’re no longer standing in plain sight
Your kindness lingers;
Like golden embers in the night.
Picture
​Under the big blue sky
Wandering through endless flowery meadows
My senses are deliriously joyful.
Every u-shaped valley leads to a folded mountain peak
Where my heart is unclaimed freedom.
If only those summertime days could go on forever.
In the soft grey winter world,
Flickers of sunlight
Fill the empty space
Between the wrinkles on my face
My summer legs dance to sunset at Lake McDonald,
My human hands yearn to touch the Love I left behind.
Wintertime brings the promise of blooms and birds
A hope that this may be the year
I stop stumbling over these mountains and
Start waking up in her tender prairie arms
Letting her flowering sunlight kiss my winter bones.
Iowa on Earth Day
Burning trees, blasting stone;
How can a child’s heart love
A landscape they’ve never known?
When a soul is sold
To punch the clock,
How can reciprocity replace
The price of another load of rock?
When sediment clogs the creek and
The purchase cost is met
Will anyone wonder
Where the brown trout below the
Quarry went?
After the pit is desiccated and
Carbon cooks the air,
Who will tell about the wood thrush
that sang there?
Old oaks smoldering,
Ancient bluff crumbling in two
A new gravel road
Will soon be coming to you.
Picture
Picture
Springtime, when trees are kaleidoscopes of hope,
An oil canvas with endless shades of green
Each day the picture changes but the frame stays the same
A hopeful bud turns many leaves into one big tree,
Unplug, discover the forest.
Springtime, when the earth is soft and smells like rain.
Twenty drops of color blooming on the forest floor
Spring beauties, hepatica, bloodroots,
Wildflowers are tiny magicians of ephemeral joy
Unplug, explore the driftless lore.
Springtime, when the mighty Mississippi is most alive
Teeming with fish and full of bird song,
There's no place I'd rather go
Than down to a river I know.


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HUGS AND DREAMS

Picture
A blue camping mug;
Montana memories 
Give words a hug.
Drinking wine through tin 
Is the happiest I've ever been.
Dreams can't be borrowed;
There is no promise of tomorrow.
Leave your comfort zone
And take 
pride in being alone.
Do not become lost in the words failures say.
Let the dust of others settle where it may.
Count the stars at night
until worries are out of sight.

Open your eyes,
Awake your passions.
Capture a sunrise, a sunset.
Along the way, always remember
To forgive love, but don't ever forget
A heart will never heal without 
Giving the skin time to peel.​
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Valentine

Picture
​The cold claws of night
Are creeping in quickly.
It was -10 yesterday and
Will be twice as cold this evening.
I pull you closer.
We sway back and forth,
Tides under the moon.
We watch the goldfinches gobble
Sunflowers.
​I question checking my phone
Or turning on the impeachment news.
Feeding you a bottle of warm milk
Is all that is in my control.
As comfort fills your belly,
You go from having your dukes up
To playing the piano.
I’d like to slip away with you
Into that deep ocean of sleep,
Where your eyes are like blue marbles
Surrounded by pearls.
At dusk, redbird flies away,
The last light of day pinned to his feather.
My mind wants to stay here forever.
You by my side.
How could I be gifted anything more?
Mom walks through the nursery door.

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BARNYARD HEART

Picture
A rusty colored barn is twisted
in shambles
Half its body has blown out.
Its board feet have collpased upon each other;
the frame is a tribute to an era
when getting rich wasnt made by getting bigger
Instead by living honestly with routenily less
I think of all the factory farms,
those cuttthoarts who must have
promised fame in exchnage to tear down the barn
The home still stands beyond the barn
A row of double stacked hay bales insulates
the shelter from polar vortexes 
Flakes of white paint hold the stories
of thousands of chores- but today animals
no longer roam the vacant lot.
The home looks arthritically shaken
on this January day.  
I want to pull in through the drifts
to make sure the old farmer in his overalls
is warm, and has enough straw
to fill the spaces between his barnyard heart
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    About the Author

    All poetry is original work by Brian Gibbs.

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