Study War No More

50 years ago.

“Load up!” The familiar command to hop in the back seat. Business in town.

Bud’s exhale “God damn hippies” combats my silent intrigue as we pass so many sitting on the wall. Three miles, though an entire atmosphere away from home.


The mood is lifted as Bud’s head flips acknowledgment toward on old friend walking beneath the arcade.

Attention now, the tone of a chant streaming through the car’s open window. Peace signs, held by people trickling down the steps of the Bank of America. “Hey Bud! There’s grandma and grandad!” A sudden acceleration throwing our backs to the seat as we head out.

Link to the inspiration for this blog post: MLK Audio
Link to another article on this subject: “Turbulent 60’s”


I once made a pact that I would do something.
As I write these words I am fulfilling that agreement.
It feels lame.
An excuse.
All of those great ideas blown by.
Why didn’t I catch them.
Make myself sit.
Now on this eve of September 30th.
A true challenge.
I admit it.
I accept it.

I, Teal Rowe, have published four posts in September.

Thank you for holding me to it.


No way to cut it off at the pass nor nip it in the bud.
It is here.
How is it going?

The Pool- Tale for a Cancer

Cancer-  ruled by the moon-symbolized by the crab- cardinal- water sign.
I have always loved that my sun is in Cancer.  Home, nurturing, a sensitive emotional side, are typical qualities of Cancer that I enjoy, rescuer, smotherer, worrier, are others that I sometimes loath.
This summer I have had the experience of truly soothing my Cancer sun.  The balm is big.  An olympic size swimming pool filled by mineral water flowing from a natural spring. A place where I float, tread, dance.  
As if after having being starved, my Cancer sun is nourished.  The light of the moon pulls me down, deeper.  The past, all that leads to this moment, vanished into the current of my treading legs and arms.  A process that in order to be buoyant, I let go.  Loosening of the claws in order to sink to depths beyond measure.
A form of nurturance.  
My own.

The List

Sky through the window, Bathtub,
Earth outside the door.
Simply, easily, granted. Thanks.


A long hallway, the way out was a doorway that had been tiled down to the opening size of a shoe box.  Clean, colorful, Moorish tiles.  An exquisitely crafted tile job down to the rounded edges of a sill that lined a gap just too small for me to fit through.

A super compassionate woman at an information window said that the small portal was the only exit.  Thinking there was some trick I would use to fit through, I wanted to finagle a way out.  I went back and forth in my mind, figuring and looking at the opening to see if my ideas would work.  I think the woman sensed my shut in irritation as we were dialoging, until she kindly assured me that there was “no other way”.

In a surge of discontent I conjured up the power to loudly scream “BULLSHIT!”- simultaneously a door appeared.

I opened that door to find another door, then another, and another- I finally saw oak trees through a large, beautiful, open, glass door.

Through obstacles in the way, through other peoples truths, sometimes one just has to call bullshit and go for it.

Maricopa Hwy




Leaning In

Full force  
Leaning in 
45 degrees
Shots fired target practice in the next canyon 
Wanting to ignore
It is just a sound

I can’t
The body won’t
180 degrees

Haiku on Choice

One piece of paper.
Eagle, power, though one wing. 
Flip side, a full hawk.


The sun is in the astrological sign of Gemini, the twins.  Ruling planet, Mercury, element, Air.

When I needed to write high school papers I never really quite knew how to go about it.  I had an editor in the house, so it made things convenient if and when I played my cards right.

A technique which I perfected through the years started with me yelling out my bedroom door, “How do you spell ‘such and such’?”  The reply coming from across the house, “Look it up!” would repeat for the first couple of spellings.  As I continued to call out for grammar help, if the pattern held up, I knew eventually she would have to dive into my paper.  She couldn’t contain herself.

She is Gemini.  Her craft, words.  Quickly arranging, expressing, thinking.

Like clockwork when she had had enough calling from room to room, the entire house would shake with her stomping across the kitchen floor toward my room, “Oh Gawd, let me look at that!” ripping the paper out of my hands, she went to town on it.  Either by doing an edit, or sometimes, if I was lucky she would rewrite the entire thing as in the case of Trout Fishing in America by Richard Brautigan.  That report was great….thanks Mom!