River Shoal

Often it is during times of death that we become the most insightful, risking our comfortable reality by delving into the unknown. Maybe by doing so we'll discover the intangible, but none of us can grip this unfathomable place we often call heaven. We can only imagine what it'd be like. While I'm not a religious man, I think deep thoughts. That was the case when a good, good friend passed away. I escaped into a world of words and tried to picture what I thought the journey would be like if I could go there and back again.

I feel the cold river on the toes of my soul
I’m dreaming of my pot of gold in a future yet untold
I gaze up the river to where branches caress memories old
all the while my soul seeps into the water’s
of River Shoal

I leave my body heaped thus and swim away like a great fish
I follow the unassailable current down, away in bliss
what of all I left behind, is there anything at all to equal this?
There should be so many things
I would dearly miss

During these spare moments I continue like a ghost observed between
the earth and the moon and everything seen
but this future is like a great broom that dooms my dream
and the past merely the needle and thread
that holds me together you see

My journey ventures down river only for a time
I journey back up these water’s in search to find
Answers to my past that clash with my future and mind
There are so many questions I have but my recollections
are like rhymes

You see it is my hope to find a part of me
deep in the damp canyons echoing with forgotten memories
but it seems I can no longer ignore the looming darkness that bleeds
Today I come to heal the heart and soul of me from a past
that breaths

My ether soon shudders, feeling the cold slowly creep
I lay immersed at the bottom of these dark waters covered in stones and weep
My memories press persistently, soon must come my defeat
Cause everything that you hope you could hold dear
is something the river can keep

Knowingly there comes change, romancing the past has a cost
My memories remember me like a broiling sea, up from the bottom they churn and toss
I glare up through these clear cobalt waters, breath in a cleansing spirit of trust
With life there is a future we must all embrace for otherwise
we are all lost

One day I will pass into this river and flow
to the heart of the ocean where all are delivered in tow
into the life blood of Mother Earth we each must row
but today I seek a different road, my path leads to a future
a place I must go

So in the throws of life, my body is refilled with soul
and like a child born crying and screaming, I awaken a newborn foal
Life is magical and living isn't a toll
I have found myself it seems on the shores
of River Shoal

Asleep/Awake

Many times life is lost in the chaos of the day to day deluge of work and responsibility. Often you find it overweighting and pressing so much so that you can't see the path ahead. It dims. I think that it is important to understand that these downs, unlike the ups are a means to an end. They allow for you to discover your resolve and self, eventually defining who and what you are. The trick is to not be smothered with doubt. You could say that good floats and all you have to do is swim to the top. So many people hold themselves down and never seize life.

The past you cannot erase
you know every line
You’ve gone through the paces
only to be reminded

Some days may be gray
Full of heart wrenching sorrow
while others a piercing sunny ray
focused down on the road you must travel tomorrow

Today I’m driving down the freeway
no hurry in the slow lane
no hurry to slave my life away
It is my fault, only I am to blame

My work is done well
not that it couldn’t be done better
The deviation of which none could tell
none but me, no other

These days may be the same
but the differences are clear reflections
of days I attained unreached fame
the everything between led me to imagine

Still I am happy, when I am not sad
I am glad, when I am not here thinking
about everything bad
I should be thoughtless never blinking

I try so hard to be good
but that doesn’t make me happy
You’d think being happy would be good
enough for me as for anybody

What I am doing is not
what I want to do
I feel I am rotting
in a cauldron of tasteless grey stew

My ideas already thought of and done
nothing I have to think is new I’m afraid
my life’s work an old blanket spun
no instrument, the fine note of which remains un-played

Did I do it right
by walking the line?
Should I have fought my blight
or merely been born mindless and blind?

Sometimes I find my life asleep
so conveniently lost
the walls of this life I occasionally beat
the mice whisper “tsk, tsk know the cost?”

And I listen and I allow the machine
to grind me down
day by day I’m left imagining a scene
the end of my life, not a tear, no sound

The masses mask themselves
they hide behind drapes
all have their own spells
hopes and dreams they must rake

For now I pile up my thoughts
for all to see
I have new flowers to pot
more life to breath

I’ve come to realize
most lives are rhymes
like the blushed faced skies
moments that sweep over and remind

That now must be seized
and up and downs are part of the journey
That the moment cannot be left unpleased
and life doesn’t stop, it is always in a hurry

Asleep awake
life is a spectacle that we small men make
thinking our life is a large plate
But I must remind you, it is something you must take

Silence, Solace and Self

Poetry is one of those things that you never know whether or not you like it or hate it. Sometimes its just a way to sit down and play with words. Whether or not this is done well is left for you to decide. The flavour of life is the spice of diversity and I like poetry for that reason above any other. Every once and awhile its nice to write without bounds and do without set rules. Poetry blesses the writer with such freedoms that you'd be a fool to ignore them.

The type of poem Silence, Solace and Self is I'd call stream of consciousness, which doesn't always work, but I will put myself in the spotlight and post this one.

Imagine the passion, waves clashing with shore I so adore
And me walking and remembering following the beach wood
wondering if I could forget the absurd everything!
that blankets all clear thoughts with the clutter of living hard
rather than the morning, the birds chirping, the sand sifting between my toes
and the wind softly blowing controlling the balance of -me- living
All this so consuming
I lay down now weak from so much sound
what loudness you may ask?
This life I have cast, the stones have landed and they stand fast
and my beating the inevitable past
burdens me with hope, such bitter remorseful hope
but the taste of the cool ocean-moist air rushing, rumblings rivers through my soul
steals my past, those thoughts of old, of past loves
those long gone, days when I was young and strong
and pulls me back to me and the sound singing like a song
is so silent, such silence harbors me like a spicate of land
and my world of blowing sand, this desert becomes an oasis from the madness
and I am glad, full of gladness
and the orchestra of this life builds and blooms into a million words without words
and that alone makes me feel at home and whisks me back
to the rocky, ravaged edge of an ocean and the peace and quiet of nature's choir
opens my eyes and cuts my ears off and casts them aside
and a blind man becomes a deaf man who hears what is to be heard
and listens to what is said

Softly blowing now, a cool wind frowns with a deep chill
and the hounds haunt my realm of silence by treading deeper still
to the stillness that reaches through years, through fears, through all that I may feel
for my solace is my chalice of salvation, my rendition of redemption
I am cold now but not cold, I feel only alive, so alive it makes me bold
courageous enough even to challenge my soul and my peace of mind
so empowered am I that I am willing to attack my other self in defense of my true self
I left sadness for a happy trail, I left a hell bent life on a heavenly gale
and I flew high, as high as I could fly
to find my angle and my imaginative fairyland fable
Only a dream? Yes, but a dream inside a dream looking inside a life
and at a person who wanted escape but could not find freedom
could not stop running to see the sun until today, right now
All past wrongs, miscalculations, mistakes, and lapses of judgement begone
They are accepted for what they are but not for what they have become
This burden is my harness and I will not till the fields
under a master who lays seeds on fields of white
This moment, now, I must seize my peace
for without peace, the mind is a jumble of thoughts
and self cannot coexist in the absence of solace
And so I find myself in the midst of a thunder cloud carrying the waters of this world
and I feel a raindrop drip and another until I am soaked
and each drop a blessing of remembrance and semblance of forgiveness
which I alone could accept and I alone accepted
that I am me and I am at peace
With my arms in the air and the ocean rushing up to my knees
I declare, “I must be free?” And I am not afraid

From here to the beyond, I ride the waves still in search of freedom
By searching I find I am able to see into this inner self that haunts me
and what I see, does it’s violence, velocity to destruction
steal me back to reality? I wish it were so simple - to escape.
I see only madness and I feel mad
I surrender to this violence and lose all semblance of me, my freedom to be free
and yet there is a bridge to another time and I walk, I cross this bridge to the other side
where a fluttering, flickering flash of a dream resides, reminds, opens the blinds
a recollection of my past seemingly holds me, steals me, even hates me
but time harbors, helps, and regenerates the heart and soul of me
going back to the child that was so uncouth,without the weight of wisdom, and truth? Only the feather reality
and simple harmony of pure blissful satisfying delightful discovery of everything
I grin, I sigh, I uncover and find that I can mend my life
and in a rush of pure joy - I realize the madness -
for the first time I heard the rhythms of my heartbeat and the calling of this life
and I didn't feel beside my life but inside it, a part of it
two and two we became one and the same through and through
not an eye looking in but an eye looking out
And there, sudden like, I witnessed a sunset bloom
reflecting ghoulish motifs of an angry sky and a wondrous smile brightens on my face
and I swim in such happiness, such joyous happiness
because I am me, myself, and a self only of self
free at last to be myself
and so in a revelation of imagination silence, solace and self
swim across the ocean of my mind
where a-swoon I sing to the coming moon...

Seesaw

This poem is about lies, hinting at the consequences of doing so in a very metaphorical way. For some I think that lies are a disease, the easy way out when telling the truth is too much trouble or maybe an convenient out.

Seesaw

I tell you what I saw
only a bit like a seesaw
see misconception
saw misdirection
seesawing truth and all
is like a great invention
and truth, a great sloth
like a turtle lost
and lies
like a rabbit fast
ready to dash
I must confess nonetheless
I like my seesawing nice and slow
but occasionally a rabbit jumps
out of the bushes and as a hound I rush
chasing my precious
but the white twinkling ears lie still in fear
before again I sight such delight
sometimes I catch and kill
other times we’re quite the match
often though dinner is hatched
and my hunger is soothed with a rabbit stew

Vision Quest

Challenge tastes bitter when the drink of choice is failure. You can go thirsty, never succeeding. But failure forges a man, tempers him of stronger metal. It casts him sharper and more finely balanced than success alone would. It is this reason alone that you should tempt failure by seeking it out like a hunter does his prey, unforgiving and unrelenting. The best quarry is not that which is easily caught thus the most satisfying of life's endeavors is succeeding in that which one has sought for long and hard. He has failed at it over and over, but in spite of that succeeded, the journey more valuable than the conclusion.

My advice then, seek challenge and stand on the bones of your failures. Don't give them life because they will burden and overrun you like stampeding horses. Feast upon them and they will sustain you all of your living days.



I must venture yonder off
On my vision quest
Take all the knowledge I have gathered
And challenge thy nature’s wrath
For only there can I forge my metal
There in mountains high
Where man is but a visitor
And visions but dance beautifully
across the alpine sky

Memories that meant

Some say taking risk is a danger to myself and a danger to others. I agree. It is my life's pursuit to tread among mountains. But I must also submit, "Is it not a risk to risk nothing at all?" Merely the lowest of us fathom life without challenge and those that simply do nothing wither and rot away; their dreams dying along with their inspiration and will to live. In challenging oneself, there is always risk. Facing it takes courage and commitment. It is my hope that when my life is done, I stand proudly on the deck of this great ship I call life. I stand on the bow, not with a fearful gaze, but with a smile. And I will remember memories that meant.

Pace back and forth and erase empty space
clear your head of density
and race ahead into a future daunted with challenge
and die on a sinking ship with a smile
remembering
memories that meant...

Blue

Nature is an amazing place. There is so much there that is so awe-inspiring and breathtaking that you often wonder why you had never noticed before. It was always there, wasn't it? But it isn't. Not in the city. Not in the town. Surely not in your house. In nature, beauty is something different. Something that captures you and holds you captive. Not fake or contrived. It is powerful and frightening. REAL. There is meaning out there. Seek it out, taste it.

Why do I find a flower pretty?
Was it because I was told so?
Did culture tell me what is beautiful?
Of course it did, but it didn’t.
I’ve heard, “Beauty is in the beholder.”
I’m bound to agree.
"The flower is pretty because I like the color blue
and not just any blue, but rather a lighter shade.
I also like yellow, but not at home on the walls
for that matter not anywhere else beside nature.
Yellow is a beautiful color there.
In fact ugly in nature is difficult to find.
What is most ugly to me is that which we create
-not that all of our creations are ugly,
because we create beautiful things,
but because at times our building, our mining, our logging
-many things that we do,
destroy nature
treads on that which is always beautiful
So why do I find a flower pretty?
Maybe because it was something that I didn’t create.
It was here before me
and has survived the ages..."

Voice

Writing is a looking glass staring candidly into the very core of your being. It can lie, it can cheat but in the end these words aren't said in vein, they are spilt out with emotion. They tell tales of high fantasy, horrible reality, love and even comedy. This and everything between. More than that, though, writing is a journey of understanding, a growing realization of who and what you are. For some words come like the tide, for others a constant patter of rain, but for me words are like a seasonal flood. They satisfy the thirst of a parched dessert that blooms instantly, then is gone as quickly as it came. But, before thoughts batter their way out of my scull and make good their escape. They have found their way into the ink and onto the page. For those precious few moments I have what I have always sought. This voice. Mine. Mine to wield and control as I see fit. A wild beast that, for the moment, is domesticated. We all seek control of it, but few of us truly find our voice. When you do, take the time to listen. It will reward you handsomely.