Paco the Poet share another poem

 

The sensitivity of the donkey poet

 Sometimes I stumble on a poem Paco wrote and I am just struck by his sensitivity, playfulness and non ego.

A Poem by Paco

 

When I’m happy

You might be sad,

When I’m good

You might be bad.

 

Sometimes I have things to say really loud

Sometimes I look up just happy to see a cloud,

But you might be hiding, wishing I’d go away

You might be hoping to just make it through another day.

 

My mother told me this

and she told me all the time

"Paco, everyone is different

but everyone is the same,

We all have hearts, we all make mistakes,

We all have to bend over

when we go to lace our skates.”

 

I’m not sure what all that means

at least the skating part,

But I do know how I can sense

when someone near me has a broken heart.

It’s not really a smell,

nor does it have a sound.

But a broken heart can follow

any creature around.

 

And when I sense one near me

I stand very still

I imagine there are cookies

up on my favorite hill.

 

I guide that broken hearted creature

be it man, child or beast,

I take them to my imaginary cookies

and we have an imaginary feast.

 

We chew them up real slowly,

and with every bite,

The broken heart hears our vibrations

And starts to get a lot more light.

 

As our bellies fill with cookies

 Even though they’re not real,

The once broken heart

Notices it can still feel.

 

{copyright: Paco the donkey, Apifera Farm]

"Fly, oh why?" asks Paco the Poet

{A conversation and poetry reading amongst donkeys and flies}

“I like to let them sit in the sun so the wings get a bit crispy before I eat one,” said Lucia, the smallest of the donkeys.

“You eat them?” asked Paco.

“Yes, but I don’t chew, just swallow them whole, they are less bitter,” she answered.

Just then, a bunch of flies came swooping in, landing on the ears of the donkeys, and their legs, backs, necks and noses.

“Good morning!” said the flies. “It is a wonderful sunny day, perfect for being a fly on a donkey.”

All the donkeys collapsed in the dusty earth and begn to roll and dust.

“I hate it when they do that,” said the lead fly. “It squashed my aunt last week.”

Paco brought out a small piece of crumpled paper. You see, Paco is a poet. He has been writing poetry since he was a young donkey. You might not have ever met a donkey poet most likely because donkeys are very humble about their skills. Paco hid his talent for years fearing the herd might think him odd. But they heard him reciting a poem once to a bird in a tree and they really liked it, so from that day on, they encouraged him to share his poems.

“Do you have a poem to read, Paco” asked old Matilda.

“I do, it is called, “Flies, Oh Why?” and then he cleared his throat and began to recite his poem.

“Flies, oh why?

Why do you bite me? Why do you hover?

It is hard for a little donkey to find cover.

We wait all winter for the warm air

We want to lay about without a care.

But you come along and picnic on our backs

This is very rude, we are not snacks.

Yesterday I was listening to the song of a bird

It was the most beautiful sound I’d ever heard.

But then there came a buzzing to the left and the right

You ruined my bird’s aria and made him take flight.

Can’t you find another skill that wouldn’t ruin our day?

Perhaps you could learn to fly a kite or make love in the hay.

I know it’s your life and you will do as you please

But I will have to squash you if you chew on my knees.

I’m sorry.”

The flies all stopped for a second, their buzzing was hushed to silence.

“How would we go about learning to fly a kite?” a young fly asked.

“Now listen, you are a fly, you are not a kite flier!” a big manly fly said.

“Let’s go make love in the hay,” a lady fly said to the manly fly.

And with that, the flies all swarmed to the hay barn.

“Paco, don’t let anyone ever tell you that your poetry has no power,” said Pino.

And with that, the donkeys took one last roll in the dust to scratch their fly bites, and headed down to their field of grass.

Fly Camp!

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A post shared by Katherine Dunn / Apifera Farm (@katherinedunnapiferafarm) on Aug 6, 2019 at 7:57am PDT

Welcome to Fly Camp! This morning Paco is teaching all campers about the importance of dusting! This once a season camp is only open to very resilient campers, for example, I was sent home on day one. Campers must know how to get through August without complaint and by using their bodies to communicate their displeasure with biting flies. Communal dust baths are an imperative part of Fly Camp.

Poco the Poet inspired again by summer people

As you might know, Paco is the resident poet. He was inspired to write another poem about summer people, this one after I took him to our local grocery store.

A poem from the donkey poet

Be Donkey...Be Love

Let’s all go out there and give some love and attention to someone-Paco has always believed Old Matilda is his mother, we have never tried to dissuade him from this idea.(Copyright Apifera Farm) #donkeylove #apiferafarm #animalnonprofits #pacothepoet #matilda

A post shared by Katherine Dunn / Apifera Farm (@katherinedunnapiferafarm) on Aug 22, 2018 at 6:02am PDT

A new Paco Poem

Paco explains summer solstice and Lucia worries her head might explode

I arrived to do morning chores in the outer barn, and there they were, the three of them just as you see here. I stopped in my tracks and took a photo. They did not move, and as I returned to the inner barn to do my cleanup, I heard Paco,

"The summer solstice, also known as midsummer, occurs when a planet's rotational axis, or geographical pole on either its Northern or its Southern Hemisphere, is most greatly inclined toward the star that it orbits."

"Huh, is that so?" asked Pino.

"I don't like thinking of the world as spinning," said Lucia.

"Im glad there's gravity or I'd be on the moon," said Pino.

"And your head would burst open if you didn't have a space suit on," Boone chimed in from the other paddock.

Lucia started to hamper, she did not feel good about this.

"It's okay, Lucia, nobody is going to explode. it is a day of celebration, It is the longest day the year, and think about it, we can take more dust baths under the blue sky today than any other day in the year!" said Paco.

"That is something to celebrate," said Pino.

And with that, Paco rolled, and rolled, and rolled.

I might strip down later today, after the hay has been delivered, and do the same. No pictures.

{The majority of our 540 bales of hay arrive today! Please consider a donation to help us refill our Apifera piggy bank. Thank you!}

Today's poem from Paco the Poet

Paco eats a parade

"I want to be in the front!" said Lucia.

"It's okay, she's the youngest, let her go first," said Paco.

So Paco had his birthday party this morning. He requested an Animal Cracker Parade Cake, which requires no baking-but don't be fooled they are actually rather problematic to make since the guests often follow you around while you make the cake.

Like most donkey birthday parties, it was short. Once the cake is gone, that's it. But there was a lot of good chewing going on.

Paco has been so proud all week, sharing his poems, and helping Apifera bring in some needed donations. He likes to be helpful in any way he can, in between getting into donkey mischief. He said he is working on a special birthday poem that I'll post for him as a final thank you over on his birthday page which ends tonight.

We are so happy Paco was born.

A post shared by Katherine Dunn / Apifera Farm (@katherinedunnapiferafarm) on Jan 27, 2018 at 8:28am PST

Paco's Poem

Paco has been enjoying sharing his poems each day during his birthday celebration week, and so have I. This weekend we will have a Cookie Parade for him and we are happy it will be a bit warmer. Paco is also very proud that he has helped raise $390 so far to help Apifera, and grateful. His birthday celebration page stays up until this weekend.

Paco's kite in a tree...and a venting of sorts for manners

Paco is still writing poems daily. He does this all the time, maybe not this frequently, but he wanted to help Apifera in his own way, to share love, poems, and help raise some money if he can. So I am posting photos and his poems, a conversation or two, over on a one-week page in his honor. Visit and partake if you are inclined.

I had long sit down with Paco today, I could use the soothing. I am finding some people to be very...impolite...when it comes to voicing their desires. It seems that many people are so tightly wound these days, angry really, that if they get an invite from a little donkey to join his birthday celebration, rather than ignore it-like I and many do daily on social media when we get a zillion requests-instead a percentage of people feel the need to leave a large print post on his birthday page explaining,

"Don't send me these fundraisers any more, sorry, I can't bare them."

Now if this had been from a stranger, I would have deleted her from my friend's list and walked away-when I create a fundraiser on FB it is public, but I am prompted to invite all my Facebook friends on my list-there is no way to create segmented lists on a fundraiser. And if you don't invite your friend's list, nobody is going to see it. On top of this, I do the usual posting on my own page. I always seek a balance of regular posts with fundraing posts, and you can't please anyone. This is someone I had respected for her art, and vice versa, for over ten years, and we have met in real life. I have always shared my art and book news with her, and she has always sent me promos. I have also been very generous with sharing her work online, and that was mutual. I am much more active online than she is however, and I now run a 501[c][3]. I was shocked that rather than private message me, she put this comment directly on little Paco's birthday fundraiser page where he was been having fun posting poems and photos. At first I thought maybe she was being funny, so I wrote her. I told her the only way to ensure she never see anything again, since she clearly sin't that savvy about how to work with her FB settings, was to let me unfriend her, that was really the only way I knew to ensure she never saw my posts if they were that bothersome to her. She replied that was fine, then said she "loved my posts, but she couldn't bear my constant fundraising efforts."

I was taken a back. And yes, hurt. I analyzed my marketing efforts, reviewed some discussions I'd just had with a marketer at a non profit help group, and even wrote them again and asked their opinion. They said if anything, I could increase my promoting and asking for money.

Oh well, it's her loss, and her desire, she is blocked now so god forbid she get a glimpse of one more poem from a little donkey, or a post about an old goat, or photos of old ladies holding Opie.

If any of you are bothered by my marketing, please let me know-I will delete you from my main data base, Instagram feeds, newsletters and Facebook-I don't have a problem with it. Why this person could not have handled it a bit more lovingly, I don't know, especially since she is a freelancer herself.

But the incident is dead to me now.

And Paco continues, as I speak, to pencil his poems on paper, hand them to Benedetto who sticks them on the fence post for me. n fact, one just blew my way,

"Don't let the poorly chosen worded ones
Stop our funs."
Love, Paco.

Paco's week long birthday celebration...yes, with poems

Paco wants to help, which is very much like him. As you know he is our resident poet, so all this week through next Sunday which is his birthday, he will be sharing poems and I will be sharing lots of Paco-isms.

Our goal is to celebrate this once shy and unconfident creature coming into our life, after we adopted him out of an overcrowded situation. It took two years to help him learn to be confident and behave with manners, and I'm glad I didn't give up-he just needed time and a consistent human presence to evolve. He has a big heart and is a very wonderful soul... and a wonderful poet.

Paco has set up a week long birthday page on Facebook where you can read his poems during the week and celebrate with him. I'll be sharing lots of Paco-isms too.

We love you, Paco!

Paco the poet has a message

Please visit the funding page to make a donation.

Paco's Poem

{As many of you know, Paco is a poet. At the old farm back West he wrote in his Bower of Love, but here he was a bit lost since he had no private writing spot. I created an area for him in The Wood and I was so happy to see he is writing again}

I hear the leaves as they lay

Together

I stand to their right, left and front and center

But the road people rush

Their vibrations shove the air

Leaves scatter

It will take me all day to place my feet 

Right, left, front and center of them

There’s a sun beam

On a dirt patch

I’ll wait for them there

Funeral for The Head Troll

As requested, the barnyard asked me to transcribe the funeral of The Head Troll, without any interference of photos.

I heard foot steps rushing to the front door.

My heart nearly stopped. It couldn't be her. But it was the sound I had heard so many times, of The Head Troll, scurrying to slip a note under my door, and then rushing back to the barn for whatever duties she had that day.

The footsteps were slower, heavier. And the note was pushed under the door as the footsteps retreated to the barn.

I picked up the note, crudely written,

Bring the ukulele? 6 am meet at the picket gate

Oh good Lord, six am? Well, they are early risers and it is a beautiful time of day, with the morning light sneaking in as darkness lifts.

So there we all were this morning, at the picket gate, huddled together. We are in the middle of a three day cold snap and I remind myself that soon I'll be whining about flies.

Paco appeared from the barn. My heart nearly cracked. He had some how found the old horse blanket I had draped over The Head Troll as she lay dying. He walked as only Paco can, in a slow shuffle, his head down, much like Eeorye, his tail making a swish every few steps. Around his neck, he had the special necklace I had crudely made out of one of The Head Troll's broken horns years back-a horn that fell off after she got herself stuck, for the thirtieth time, in fencing-as she tried to engage her mouth in grass on the other side of that fence as it must have appeared much better to her than the grass on her side.

Nobody spoke. The goats chewed cud, a sign of solidarity I thought.

We walked the short distance to the gravesite. Frankie had been buried the day before, out of necessity. Martyn had found a beautiful stone spire and placed it as her monument-we can see it from the house and it is so fitting to her, a strong stone pointing upwards-no hill was too tall for Frankie.

Taco brayed...and brayed...and brayed. Then Pino, Lucia and Matilda all brayed. It was as moving as the gun salute at my father's Marine service, I can attest to that. Paco began by saying,

"We are here this morning to salute The Head Troll, a goat of small size but remarkable strength. I was with her longer than any of you. I knew her when she had no purpose, I had no purpose. But I watched her over the years, and I admired the way she could get things done, without ego, without complaint. And boy, when she told all of us to line up, we lined up!"

The entire group cheered, "So true! So true!"

"So let us now honor her, and line up according to our heights, smallest first over on the right," Paco declared.

And they did. Well, there is always some confusion with Earnest and Moose, so Moose stood in front of Earnest.

"I have written a poem for this occasion," said Paco, and he began to read.

As I looked to the sky this morn,

I saw five birds, tussling to perch on the wire.

And I did not cry for you.

They flitted around,

and then perched in a tidy row, side by side,

and then they whistled a tune.

And I did not cry for you.

Because you taught me, once long ago,

that when I'm scared, whistle.

You told me it vibrates the heart

and the blood moving around warms the

perspective of a fearful glance.

And I did not cry for you.

I whistled with the birds.

And then he began to whistle, "Che too madre" from Madame Butterfly. The funeral procession did their best to whistle Puccini and I made an honorable effort to play the ukulele in a fitting operatic way. One by one, the funeral party dispersed, heading back to the barn, leaving me and Paco standing at that grave.

Paco turned to me and he carefully, and so gently, wrapped the horse blanket around my shoulders and placed the necklace with Frankie's horn around my neck. We left the scene without a word.

Song for Moose and Paco will officiate the funeral

I wanted to let you all know, tomorrow there will be a private funeral service for The Head Troll, officiated by Paco, who asked to lead the service. This is a big deal for Paco-he arrived at Apifera without any confidence, but gained it through love and experience. Paco and The Head Troll both came from new Hampshire, arrived in Oregon and I adopted them, so it is also fitting he lead the send off. I know at feedings this morning he was in a corner, working on poems. He doesn't have a special writing spot here, yet, I hope to make him one this summer. So check back tomorrow. I have been asked to write about the service, but there will be no photography allowed.

While there has been much loss of late, there is still much life, and the percolations both under the ground and in my new life here are everywhere.

Yesterday I turned 59, and Moose turned 4. I didn't too well on a lavish party for Moose, but it's pretty easy to please these guys on birthday parties if there is any kind of food involved. As you can see from the movie, chewing demonstrates content party goers. Later that night I made myself a old family recipe of white cake with chocolate frosting-a classic sturdy cake my mother used to make. We had wine and good stuff, and slept well after a hard week.

I went to a sheep farm yesterday to meet a fellow shepherd from Hatchtown Farm, but this one really knows her fiber. She is very good at sharing her knowledge on many levels and next weekend she invited me to go with her to help at another farm's annual sheering day. I'm really excited. I really want to make something of my fiber and am also thinking of getting some Coopworth, which she has, a longer fiber breed, versus our CVM's which are a fine fiber breed. I think I can handle a few more sheep but need to really focus on good management to get as most out of my girls as possible. I am a nice at wool sheep, so have so much to learn. By the way, she sells her fiber and it is gorgeous!

Anyway, so many people contacted me about The Head Troll, and my birthday and it was very kind and helpful. I am fine, The Head Troll was aware of the shifts happening in Apifera, and with me, I know this, I really do. It was very like her to...give some more room for the new life we are creating here, and it was her time.

A post shared by Katherine Dunn / Apifera Farm (@katherinedunnapiferafarm) on Mar 10, 2017 at 1:25pm PST

What do you need to believe today?

Paco the donkey is our resident poet, and worrier. But he dreams of being a dragonfly.

"You can't be a dragonfly," most people say to him, "you are just a little donkey."

But Paco believes.

What do you need to believe today?

{This original is now avaialbe at the shop.}

Paco's Birthday Picnic

Today is Paco's eleventh birthday. As you might know if you follow along here, we always throw a little party for Paco because of all the donkeys he has always needed the most reassurance, as he is our resident worrier.

Now usually we celebrate at Old Barn with just the donkeys, although Stella and Iris, or The Head Troll, often crashed. One year, at Paco's request, we had a Fig Newton Layer Cake, and although it only lasted minutes, it was a huge success. Other years we play party games with animal crackers.

But this year, things were a bit problematic for a barn party. The flock and Otis the llama are sharing a field with the donks so I had to improvise. I told Paco not to worry, that I would surprise him.

The day started with mist, but it was warm. By noon it was gorgeous with something we all relish this time of year-sun. I decided it was a perfect day for a picnic, donkey style.

So I trudged to the upper fields where I could see the flock grazing. I couldn't see the donkeys, so was unsure if they were there or in the old barn napping. But it was so pretty and warm, I lallygagged along with my picnic item, a big bag of animal crackers. The sheep came over to greet me and I hung out with them for awhile. It gave me time to check out growing bellies of the bred ewes.

Suddenly, the flock was alerted to noise, and fled back about twenty feet, as Otis gathered them in his protective llama circle. The donkeys had come up from a hidden part of the field, behind brush. They were eager and happy to see me. Pino and Lucia were the first to arrive to sniff out my picnic offering, then Matilda, and Paco stood back a bit, waiting.

"Paco, come on over, it's a birthday picnic of animal crackers!" I said.

He swooshed his tail and came a runnin', his little stout head tucked downward in donkey play.

"I'm eleven," he said proudly.

"I'm twelve," said Pino.

"I'm nine," said Lucia.

"I'm old," said Matilda.

"I'm fifty seven," I said.

They all looked at me, in a somewhat quizzical, almost horrified look-thinking about how old that was, to a donkey anyway.

"You'll be dead soon," said Paco, worried.

"I hope not, I could live to be eighty, or ninety," I said.

"That's ridiculously old, " said Matilda.

"We're here to celebrate Paco's birth, everyone, that was a wonderful day for all of us because I can't imagine my world without him. So let's all share our animal crackers," I said.

"I want the elephants!" said Lucia.

"I can't eat the elpants," said Paco.

"El-e-phants," Lucia corrected.

"El-pants," he tried again.

She sighed.

And suddenly the flock and Otis, who had been hanging back in the distance, hoping perhaps for a late invite, fled backwards again, behind Otis. I heard grass and fast movement behind me.

It was Marcella. This complicated things, as Matilda is protective of the donkeys and flock if Marcella comes by. Fortunately, she learned quickly to be submissive to Matilda, and she sat by my side like a pro picnicker.

It was a quick party, they often are with the donkeys as the food is usually the inspiration for them to keep the party going. Conversation can only last so long when you are a donkey, I've found.

When the last cracker had been eaten, Paco looked around, walked away a few steps, then turned around to look at me. I caught his expression in one of the photos here.

"Are you sure you won't die soon?" he asked.

I hugged him.

"You mustn't ponder death too much, Paco. It is the bookend of life and it is what is in between we should focus on. And I don't want you to worry about it."

And they slowly left the party. But then, Paco saw one more forgotten animal cracker, all alone, lost in the tall grasses, and as Marcella caught on to his find, he swished his tail, and reared his round rump up a bit to tell her, matter-of-factly,

"I am the birthday boy, it is mine!"